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TALES' 



AND 



..OTHER VERSE.. 



BY 



VALENTINE BROWN. 



PORTLAND, OREGON, 1904. 



-Y of SGNGStSS 

Two Copies R, 

JAN 1? 1905 

. Oopyngm L-ury 

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4 _XXc, Noi 



£OPY B. 



COPYRIGHT, 1904, 

BY 

VALENTINE BROWN. 



^ 



I 



;sa 



DEDICATED TO MY SON 

VALENTINE. 



PREFACE. 

With this, rny fourth volume completed, my verse is 
placed hi book form. The writing and type setting of 
these volumes cover a period of twenty years, and the 
four books contain about nine hundred pages of verse. 

The time has passed serenely, and to-day, without 
gratification, regret, or censure to express, I look upon 
all these twenty years of my life as a person might who 
has climbed a cloud encompassed hill, beholding no vis- 
ta beyond, yet, through a rift beneath him viewing his 
path, where he had known many happy hours. 
I have worked earnestly, catered to no nobody, have not 
subscribed to a clipping bureau, nor courted favor of re- 
viewers; have tried many kinds of verse and written some 
I like to read. 

All my books were written by me because I enjoyed the 
occupation; they were placed in type by me for the rea- 
son I could not procure a publisher; they were bound as 
they appear because my pocket book was limited, and 
for the reason they would not sell they were given away. 

As the author is imperfect they are imperfect, and with- 
out excuse for errors, defects, lack of art and erudition, 
expressing no opinion, except, that Armageddon is the 



best and Ginszig the worst of my productions, I give 
thern all to you, dear people. 

Making no appeal to any person, not caring what any 
one thinks of me, my books, regardless of every con- 
ceivable question which may arise, or not arise; equally 
careless whether my books are read or not, I write this 
preface. Desiring to be no cynic, altruist, or reformer, 
having followed my environed path with submisson, and 
courted none other, possessing the full knowledge that 
the twenty years passed by me with my verse have been 
pleasurable, granting content to me and non-injury to 
others, I feel like one who has spent a life not in soli- 
tude, but in a room filled with congenial companions. 

As I set this type, composing as I go, even as much of 
my verse was composed while in the process of being 
placed in book form, I look upon the spiders in my re- 
treat, and desire to linger in their company awhile, for 
their presence is more desirable than the company of 
human strangers; and, perhaps, sometime you will re- 
ceive another book, dear people. 

Feeling it my duty, and therefore a pleasure, to thank 
a few strangers, less friends, and no relatives for kind 
words spoken to encourage me in the continuance of my 
chosen and unabated work, I end this preface. 

VALENTINE BROWN. 

Portland, OREGON, October I, 1904. 




WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA. 



Along the placid ocean strand, 
Among the shifting dunes of sand 

The hour is dear to me, 
When sinks the golden sun between 
The crimson clouds, which seek to screen 

The splendor from the sea. 
There I have roamed in pensive mood 
Amid Nehalem's solitude, 
And listened by the craggy shore 
Unto the surges' sullen roar. 

Nehalem's stream at flooding tide 
Extends from dune to mountainside, 
And then, when stars will light the skies, 
Weird music from its wave will rise; 



WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA 

The undulations wax and wane, 
A moment cease, then sound again, 
So sweet, so strange, as if once more 
Were nereads by the ocean shore. 

A legend tells that from the sea 

Unto Nehalem's strand, 
A people came to roam the lea, 

And dwell a happy band. 
And though they built a temple there, 
To them the domes of shell were fair, 
And coral halls beneath the sea 
Bade them return and joyous be. 

The roseate beams of risen morn 
Beheld Nehalem's shore forlorn; 
No more was heard the cheery song, 
No more the light feet danced along, 
But there a maiden fair did stray 
Alone upon her heedless way. 
The maid had roamed at dawning mild 
The grove to gather flowers wild, 
And deck her careless curls which fell 
About the form where grief did dwell, 
And she was left to pine and die 
Beneath the blue ethereal sky. 
At last, in deep despair she laid 
Herself adown within the glade, 
Where gently waved a trellised bower, 
And slumber kissed the ocean flower. 

Amid the forest covered hills 
Where giant hemlocks grow, 



WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA 

From whence Nehalem's crystal rills 

In rippling mirth will flow, 
A warrior lived where cliffside walls, 
And labyrinthine forest halls 
His presence lone did know. 
The rushing stream he followed down, 
Until he heard the billows sound, 
Then gleamed the anger from his eyes, 
For there he saw the temple rise. 

He grasped the club of yew he bore, 
And dashed along the slanting shore, 
But soon he paused surprised, to stare 
Where sleeping lay the maiden fair. 
Upon her brow no fear did seem 
To break upon a pleasant dream, 
Yet, soon she wakes in dread affright, 
The roses of her cheeks are white. 

He said: — Fear not, whoe'er you are, 
No act of mine your life will mar, 
For I, though strange to gentle ways, 
Shall tune my heart to sing your praise. 
Alike the roaring billows near, 
His words were sounding to her ear, 
And like the crags his towering form 
Above her seemed portending harm. 
She rose to flee, but strove in vain, 
And fainting fell beside the main. 
An instant he did downward gaze 
In silent thought, in strange amaze, 
Then gently clasped the ocean flower, 
And bore her to the temple bower. 



WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA. 

She woke aud cried: — O bid me go, 

Or else my tears shall ever flow; 

Alone I am this very morn, 

Alone I live and die forlorn. 

He gently said: — I know not power 

To harm you in my native bower; 

I roam the mountains and the meads, 

On wanton strife my spirit feeds, 

Yet, you my child, shall never know 

My footprints are the ways of woe. 

Soon in his heart did pity steal, 

Then love before unknown, 
The chords were struck, and must reveal 

The struggle to atone. 
No more a warrior bold did stand, 
He softly clasped the trembling hand 

To hush the stifled moan. 
The fairest blossoms from the glade 
He gathered, and there gently laid 
The one he loved, back to persuade 

The light which then had flown. 

No sign of hope to him did come, 
Her form was still, her lips were dumb, 
Until a weird, yet, sweet refrain 
Seemed wafted from the flooding main ; 
Then from her couch the maid arose, 
She looked where swift Nehalem flows, 
And then the warrior she did see, 
And sang her last unheeded plea. 

I hear again the billows sweep 



WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA. 

Above my home within the deep, 
Beneath the foaming lines of white 
I see again the purple light. 
Once more I stroll the golden strand, 
Once more I find my native land, 
The domes of tinted shells I see, 
And hear the voices calling me. 
I come to you, I come again, 
I hear my lover's sweet refrain; 
O bid me go where I would roam, 
Beyond the rumbling gates of foam. 

She quickly passed the temple door, 
And hastened to the river's shore, 
But vain her haste, and vain her plea, 
Again a warrior he will be. 
He saw the sheen upon the tide, 
The lover waiting at the side, 
And heard the song the lover sang, 
Then like an ogre on him sprang. 

The maiden cried : — O flee the blow ! 
O hasten from your vengeful foe ! 
Within the wave in safety hide, 
And wait my presence at your side. 
The lover in the water sank, 
The warrior paused beside the bank, 
The weapon fell, but late the blow, 
It simply clove the river's flow. 
The warrior turned unto the maid, 
His glance her further footsteps stayed, 
And then he cried: — Be mine to-day, 
Or else, this instant I will slay. 



WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA. 

One step and she the river's brink 
Would reach and unto safety sink, 
She thought of home and people dear, 
And love was stronger than her fear; 
The step was made, yet, scarce the spray 
Around her dainty feet did play, 
When fell the blow, and she that morn 
Had ever paid the debt of scorn. 
He clasped her in his rugged arm, 
She felt no fear, nor thought of harm, 
Yet, he was changed, was changed an hour, 
He buried there the the ocean flower. 

A lover, he embowered her grave, 
Yet, like an ogre scanned the wave, 
And roamed beside Nehalem's flow, 
To meet the one he thought a foe. 
Then as he roamed the banks along 
He heard again the lover's song. 
So plaintive was the low refrain, 
He could not hear the song again; 
And where his forest hall abides, 
With mingled love and hate he strides. 

Though ever gone to us is she, 

The flower of the briny sea, 

When moonlight glints the flooding tide 

Which flows along Nehalem's side, 

The music floats upon the wave, 

As sings the lover by her grave; 

And there I oft have gone to hear 

The mingled notes of love and fear, 



WEIRD MUSIC BY THE SEA. 

Which rise upon the swirl, and seem 
As if the waves sang in their dream. 
The drifting sands appear to sigh 
A requiem where she did die, 
The winds will waft the low refrain, 
And cliffs will echo back the strain. 

It may be but the breakers' roar, 
Which finds an echo on the shore, 
It may be voices of the breeze 
Which speaks unto the dunes and trees; 
Yet, with the flood the notes will rise 
Alone when moonlight glints the skies. 
They for a moment wax and wane, 
Then still awhile and rise again, 
And seem to float upon the tide 
Which swirls along Nehalem's side; 
Whate'er the cause, who there may be, 
Hears weird sad music by the sea. 



TXAHUITA. 



TLAHUITA. 

Where Uxil lake in Mexico 

Once heard the song of spear and bow, 

A youthful priest by penance bound, 

Dwelt in a solitude profound; 

To him the home of youth was naught, 

Though home of youth was not forgot, 

For near his father's castle stood, 

Where he a child roamed mead and wood. 

Yet, he by penance bound must stay 

A long year from his home away, 

So near, so far — his lot was said, 

And solitude his footsteps led; 

His lot was said, his youthful vow 

Proclaimed he must to penance bow. 



Ere passed a month, a vision weird 
Upon the moonlit lake appeared, 
A gliding barge his glances stayed, 
For there were forms like priests arrayed. 
The vessel reached the slanting sands, 
The strange procession quickly lands, 
And then by magic wand arose 
An alter from the forest close, 



TI.AHUITA. 

And madly flamed an altar stone, 
While oft he heard a woman moan. 

Then thought the youth, here I obey 

The gods' command which bids them slay, 

For they a sacrifice prepare, 

The victim is a virgin fair; 

But as he glanced to where she stood 

Resigned unto the flaming wood, 

He saw his sister, he must save 

Her life, though his a felon's grave. 

An instant he had sprung between 

The maiden and the priestly scene, 

But paused bewildered, for had he 

Beheld alone a phantasy. 

The priests, the altar and the flame 

Again the matted vines became. 

When night had passed, and morning's ray 

Relit the distant eastern grey, 

The tangled brake again he sought, 

He there must learn a sister's lot; 

But there a blackened altar stone 

He found, and else remained unknown. 

Along the lake and flowering mead 

And pathless thorn his footsteps lead, 

A priest no more is he; 

But like a broken, drifting reed 

Upon the bounding sea, 

He wandered on, oft to return 

Where once the mystic flame did burn. 

When fell the shade of eventide 



IO TI.AHUITA. 

Upon the lake the barge did glide, 
The youth beheld its silent way, 
The spectre load it did convey, 
And trembling, anxious, waited he 
Again his sister there to see. 

It passed, and on the shore he speeds, 
The gliding bark his footstep leads, 
And as he runs it swifter goes, 
And when he tires it seeks repose. 
He sees familiar hills arise, 
O home of youth ! he quickly cries. 
Upon the paths, though scarcely seen 
From thorn and drooping foliage green, 
And on the crag and rugged lane, 
He views his youthful haunts again. 
He sees the towers and the walls, 
The silent, bleak, deserted halls, 
And wonderment retains his gaze, 
Again a priest, he humbly prays. 

From room aud tower and hallway cold 
He wanders through the castle old , 
And hears a step upon the floor, 
A gentle creaking of the door, 
And came an old man to his side, 
And uttered: Child, with me abide. 
Alone I live these many years, 
Save, when the spectre foe appears. 

In years agone a martial band 
Made war upon your father's land, 



TI.AHUITA. 1 1 

Your father's warriors met the foe, 
Then taunt for taunt, and blow for blow 
Upon the castle walls resound, 
Till sanguine is the battle ground. 
The archers cloud the noonday air, 
The spearmen seek a leopard's lair; 
Up, up the steep they quit the field, 
To make the brave defenders yield. 
Thus passed the day, and eventide 
Saw corpses dot the mountainside; 
Defiant still, your father's band 
Prepared to make a final stand. 

As morning dawned, a courtier came, 
And said: Subdue the vengeful flame, 
In gracious peace, as brothers we 
May always fond contentment see. 
Your son ordain a priest to live, 
Unto our lord your daughter give, 
And banded by religion's weal, 
And by the sacred marriage seal, 
As brothers, we will clasp the hand, 
And firmer make our warrior band. 

The vow was said, the youth had gone 
Unto the temple of the Dawn, 
And one, your youngest sister fair 
Did for her wedding hour prepare. 
A gala day, a merry day, 
Then bade the heedless warfare stay, 
The music sounds upon the lake, 
The echoes in the hills awake, 



12 TLAHUITA. 

For ring the shouts: — Fair is the prize 
The sacred shrine to man denies. 

The bride was led unto the barge, 
She was the lord of Uxil's charge; 
With ringing chants the vessels sped, 
And to the altar she was led. 
Your father then with fierceness cried: 
My warriors, let the spear decide ! 
Though few are we, shall fail the crime, 
My daughter's blood wets not the shrine. 

The foemen seize the trembling bride, 
They quickly reach the altar side, 
Yet, ere could fall the ready knife 
The slayers paid their zeal with life. 
Forth sped the gleaming spears amain, 
Raised not your father's arm in vain. 
He cried: — My child, the bondage break, 
And safety waits upon the lake. 
But roused the foes unto the cry, 
The gods command the maid to die, 
And fearless, heartless, came the throng 
Unto the war's inspiring song. 

The victim freed, for safety flees, 

The priests rush forth their prize to seize, 

And press her friends upon the strand 

To shield her with the shield and brand; 

Vain effort, they must quickly fall, 

Remained alone the chief of all. 

His daughter reached the pebbled shore, 



TI,AHUITA. 13 

She saw the water cold before, 
But felt the grasp which bade her stay, 
And terror blind she broke away. 
Then as your father bravely died, 
Beneath the water sank the bride. 

O sad the hour the mountain home 

Rolls forth the funeral strain, 
No more the chieftain bold will roam 

The vales and distant plain; 
And nevermore the maid will be 

The flower of the hill, 
In sleep, in endless sleep is she, 

Beneath the water still. 
Resounds the stirring voice of war, 
The warriors rally near and far, 
They seek the foe, they find the fray, 
And vengeance bids no weapon stay. 

The priests awaken in surprise 
To hear the rageful battle cries, 
The temple riven hears the moan, 
But colder beat the hearts of stone. 
Bold warriors rushing to the strife 
Give blow for blow, and life for life, 
Till silent are the foemen all, 
And vacant is your father's hall. 

Though years ago the battle rose, 
The castle never finds repose; 
A muffled march is heard at day, 
With night awakes a heartless fray, 



14 TXAHUITA. 

Then sounds the clang of shield and spear, 
Which I too often hear and fear. 

A sigh, a tear must sadly tell 
The tale the youth had learned too well; 
But as the speaker's voice was still, 
He questioned: — Why the present ill ? 
What curse forbids the warriors sleep, 
Prevents the hall its peace to keep ? 
Which haunts the lake, commands arise 
The vision where a sister dies ? 



The speaker said: — I long have stayed 

To see my child return, 
It is decreed the wasted glade 

No more shall war discern, 
When bold Tlahuita dares defiles 
And caverns dark on Emlon isles, 

Where ghostly hosts sojourn. 
I am ordained to be your guide 
To Emlon's shine on Uxilside, 
And there the mystic flame reveals 
The paths the hidden past conceals, 
The means to break the ruthless band 
Which chains to ghostly strife your land. 

Unto the tale the youth did heed, 

A priest no more was he. 
But like a warrior bold in deed, 

He in the fray would be. 
Unto the secret cavern they 
At night passed on their silent way; 



TI^AHUITA 15 

The vessel felt the straining oar, 
And sped unto the island shore. 

They reached the bank, the guardian said: 

I wait my child's return, 
The lot is yours, ere night has fled, 

To see the signal burn. 
A light unto the cavern leads, 
Where warriors long for valiant deeds, 

And yours is fame to earn. 

The youth a gloomy pathway straj-s, 
And soon a light retains his gaze ; 
He hears the words: — Stay, passer, stay, 
Tread not upon the guarded way; 
This cavern is the leopard's lair, 
Behold the night and go not there. 
But courage grants a willing aid, 
He hastens on within the shade, 
Uutil he sees the spectre hall, 
With altar, shrine and cavern wall. 

Upon the alter rests the light, 
It glows with red and gold and white, 
A moment is his ardent gaze 
Retained upon the changeful blaze; 
It wanes, when dims the tinted glow, 
Strange voices through the cavern flow. 
From side to side the youth did glance, 
He saw the shield and fiery lance, 
And silent forms which coldly glared 
Upon him as the taper flared. 



1 6 TLAHUITA. 

Then seemed a veil to part, and there 
Appeared the senate he must dare. 

Tlahuita said: — To seek your aid 

I journeyed Uxil's wave; 
I left the pleasant slope and glade, 
And seek alone my father's shade 

Within this secret cave. 
Why must a chieftain's spirit strive 

Again in heartless fray ? 
Why will the spectre vessels glide 

Upon the water way ? 
A castle's walls are clad with mold, 
A curse which binds with ruthless hold 

I feel this very day. 
Unto a prince of Uxil tell 
How he may break this cruel spell, 
Regain his hall and foes defy, 
Or else, command him here to die. 

Tlahuita heard a voice which said : 
O scion of the mountain bred, 

A fateful mandate hear; 
Your father's trusty spear and shield 
He bore upon the battle field, 
Again shall see the battles's light, 
And you must wield them in the fight. 
Restore them to this shrine, and we 
Will follow you to victory; 
The weapons gained the curse removes, 
And triumph won your title proves. 

The fire ball rose up from the shrine, 



TXAHUITA. 17 

It led without the cave's confine, 
While silent sat the shrouded forms 
Beside their sullen, gleaming arms. 
Tlahuita sought the guardian old, 
To tell the tale the senate told, 
And said: — I seek my father's hall, 
And as the spectre footsteps fall, 
And strife resounds, I calmly bide 
The hour the secret may confide. 
My father's sacred shield and spear 
In border war my arm shall rear. 
The guardian answered: — Never one 
May dare the hall when night is gone, 
Except, a ghostly guide awaits 
To lead him through the outer gates. 
Return unto the castle old, 
Await the guide, and enter bold. 

As midnight's hour was drawing near, 
Tlahuita left the castle drear, 
To find the guide which led the way 
Unto the midnight spectre fray; 
Into the court, with somber mien 
A guard appears upon the scene; 
Unto the youth the .spectre strides, 
Into the inner court he guides. 
Tlahuita there beheld the arms 
Which rang the midnight wild alarms, 
And saw the warriors, chiefs and peers 
Move slowly by the gleam of spears. 

Alone the youthful steps are led 
Unto the cloisters of the dead; 



1 8 TLAHUITA. 

The dead arise, the gleaming lance 
Wanes in the flash of fiery glance, 
The warriors range on either side, 
Dismayed, Tlahuita seeks to hide. 
The shouts ring forth, then frenzy reigns; 
Bold is the one who there remains. 

The youth retreats upon the way, 
He hears the words: — Tlahuita, stay, 
Behold the hour and valiant be, 
The curse remove and we are free. 
Like lightnings flashing on the night, 
The swift spears dart their angry flight; 
Then frenzied tumult shakes the hall, 
And one by one the warriors fall. 

The youth beholds the mystic war, 
His kinsmen all in battle are, 
His father holds the outer way, 
And foemen on him rush to slay. 
Down, down they go, more foes arrive, 
An hour the spectre warriors strive; 
Then wanes each flashing dart of fire, 
And unto rest they all retire. 

Tlahuita hears the drum beat call 

Amid the silence of the hall, 

And then with martial step the throng 

The hallway slowly passed along. 

Soon chiefs and warriors grave and stern, 

Unto the inner court return. 

Among the circling lines appears 

The one of all he loves, reveres, 



TLAHUITA. 19 

And at his feet Tlahuita bows, 
Proclaims again his sacred vows. 
He said: — Why is the grievous hour 
Which yields this hall to ghostly power ? 
Which haunts its waters, wastes its lands, 
And brings the gleam of spectre brands ? 

With sorrowed voice the father said: 
A foemen lives to taunt the dead, 
My sacred shield his court adorns, 
And with the day my name he scorns; 
Peace shall not reign on Uxilside 
While foe of mine o'errules its tide. 
Alone of all are you, my son, 
To lead the van in battle won, 
A sister's doom revenge, and break 
The sullen curse on Uxil lake. 

My foeman's castle is an isle, 

Its gates alone are won by wile; 

Who slays its lord will find a bride, 

And be the chief of Uxilside. 

Swear by a father's fate to fight 

On lake, or plain, or battle height, 

Swear by your sister's doom to die, 

Or ever every foe defy. 

The oath was said, a pall of night 

Came down and hid the ghosts from sight; 

Tlahuita left the court, and found 

The sentry on the outer ground. 

The warrior said: — My work is o'er, 
The light of dawn appears; 



20 TLAHUITA. 

I see upon the hill and shore 

The flashing lines of spears. 
Tlahuita leads his brave command, 
He wins anew his father's land, 

The day of freedom nears. 
He vanished then, the youth alone 
Restrayed the gloomy walls of stone. 

Upon an island, rugged, lorn 

With deep defile and rock and thorn, 

Appeared a dome and tower, 
Where trees and climbing vines adorn 

The nook and cosy bower. 
There dwelt a chieftain brave, and old 

In strife and border war, 
And oft his dungeon bleak and cold 
Did captive chief and warrior hold, 

Who sought his isle to mar. 
Yet, as the shades of twilight fell, 
To purple o'er the slope and dell, 
Tlahuita boldly there awaits 
Admittance at the outer gates. 
Vain was the call, the chieftain cried: 
Admittance is to him denied; 
Within my walls his lot shall be 
The dungeon in the rock to see. 

Another day, another night, 
Passed on and left a morning bright, 
When at the gate a priest abode, 
O'erburdened with a penance load. 
A welcome his, the chieftain said, 
And up the steep the youth was led, 



TI.AHUITA. 21 

Until within the wall was he, 
A prayer to say, and else to see. 
There is the chief of lake and land, 
Who triumphed o'er his father's band, 
And as the youth beholds the foe, 
He scarce restrains the ready blow; 
But 'neath the cloak of saintly power, 
He bowed and passed to court and tower. 

With morn the sound of bugle shrill 
Awoke to life the castle still, 
And down the way the martial lines 
Pass gaily from the wall's confines; 
Then strayed the priest the paven ways, 
Within the many rooms to gaze, 
And though, no spear nor shield appears, 
The chieftain's daughter gently nears. 
Tlahuita said: Your cruel lord 
Upon my father fiercely warred, 
And at the night my kinsmen slain 
Were left upon the battle plain. 
Away was borne my father's shield 
And spear his fearless arm did wield, 
And long ago was heard my vow 
Unto that sacred shield to bow. 
Vain is the toil, no rest is mine, 
Still I shall seek that hidden shrine. 

The damsel said: A ready war 
My father wages near and far, 
And oft unto his hall is borne 
The arms his foemen did adorn; 
But guarded all are night and day, 



22 TLAHUITA. 

I can not lead the secret way. 

He answered: Though not yours to lead, 

'Tis yours to aid a priest in need, 

For though a priest, a prince was I, 

My wish was once chiefs to defy. 

By one command I am restrained, 

Until my vow fulfilled, has gained 

A prince's right, a warrior's due, 

Which dyes the field with ruddy hue. 

He cast the priestly robe aside, 
A warrior youth did there abide. 
The damsel said: This very day 
Shall see your freedom pass away, 
For comes my sire from heartless strife 
To grant no stranger foe his life. 
Your chosen vow this hour forego, 
Away, if either friend or foe. 

He answered: Nay, a chieftain gaunt 
Tlahuita's heart can never daunt, 
For I of ghostly strife have seen 
Enough to feel this hour serene. 
She heard the words so earnest, bold, 
And thought of death, or prison cold; 
Then came a woman's wish to save 
A stranger from a captive's grave. 
The damsel answered: Follow me, 
And you the guarded room shall see, 
But only as a priest; beware, 
No warrior bold may enter there. 

They passed an aisle and archway low, 



TLAHUITA. 23 

And saw the guards pass to and fro, 
Till paused the youthful guide, but he, 
Again a priest, serene will be. 
Around the warlike arms appear, 
And on the wall he sees the spear, 
And by its side the battered shield 
His father bore upon the field. 
He glanced around, the watchful guard 
Would foil the warrior's near reward, 
But urged to valiant deeds, he cried: 
Tlahuita will his fate abide. 
His mantle on the floor was thrown, 
He grasped the spear and shield, alone 
To hear the guards proclaim the call, 
And boldly wait to win or fall. 
Soon hissing arrows clove their way, 
The shield the angry courses stay, 
As skillful arm and ardent soul 
Defensive strove to win the goal. 



His foemen meet him hand to hand, 

He could not long their might withstand, 

But moves aside, a doorway sees, 

And quickly through the entrance flees. 

Tlahuita heard a shout, and saw 

The daylight from his path withdraw, 

For closed the cavern door, and he 

A captive in the cave must be. 

The slowly passing hours of gloom, 

The nearing of a certain doom, 

Kept not the youth from calm repose, 

Nor bade him dread the heartless foes. 



24 TI.AHUITA. 

He woke : A light did gently break 
Upon the night, the word; awake! 
He heard and from his couch of stone 
He rose, no more he was alone. 
There by him stood the damsel fair, 
Who led him by the guarded stair; 
She said: This hour m} r sire returns, 
And for your weal my being yearns, 
For vain the prayer, and vain the cry, 
Ere morn your portion is to die. 
He answered: Is in vain the blow 
Which fells the taunting foeman low ? 
For though, my lot may be to fall, 
A foeman 's blood shall stain the hall. 
She spoke again: Think not of strife, 
I came to save a warrior's life, 
The secret path will make you free, 
That you a prince again may be. 

To be a prince and she his bride 
Was better than there to abide, 
And by the torch's guiding ray 
They passed along the secret way. 
The pathway led unto the wall, 
And soon they heard the sentry call; 
Her trembling step the damsel stayed, 
For forms appeared within the glade, 
While rose the shout: — Returns the lord, 
The victors bear the due reward. 
The somber clang of arms they hear, 
And see the flash of shield and spear; 
Arise the warlike songs, and they 
Behold the chieftain's dread array. 



TLAHUITA 25 

She said: We may no further go, 

Or yours is death, and mine is woe. 

Tlahuita spoke : Wait my return, 

I strike the blow and freedom earn. 

Unto the open gate he ran, 

His chosen foe was every man. 

The startled chieftain cried: Who dares 

To be my foe no mercy spares; 

My warriors, wield the ready blade, 

And twice the spoil to you is paid. 

Tlahuita heard his foeman's cry, 
Could he that angry host defy ? 
Vain is the arm in pastime trained, 
He quickly lost what once was gained; 
And backward pressed, dismayed in will, 
He sought the shelter of the hill. 
Soon twilight changed to starless night, 
And rugged gorges checked his flight; 
Then firmness to his heart returned, 
For equal fray his being yearned. 
Around the hall he softly spies, 
He hears a call, and then replies, 
And then beholds the damsel fair 
Led slowly to the guarded stair; 
The moving lights fade in the cave, 
And he resolves her life to save. 

He moves away to find the path 
Which led him from the chieftain's wrath, 
And sees a guard before it stand, 
Tlahuita meets him hand to hand; 
He strikes, the sentry falls and dies, 



26 TLAHUITA. 

And naught his further course denies. 

He crawls within the entrance low, 

He moves and listens for a foe, 

But hears a sob, she is alone, 

And every hope from her has flown. 

His signal low is heard, she calls, 

Over the cavern's rocks he crawls, 

And grasps her hand, the pressure thrills 

Her soul, and she forgets her ills. 

She said: This secret path denies 
To captives hope which may arise, 
For should they seek the entrance way, 
The sentry's ready arm will slay ; 
Thus will my father death decree 
To those who in the cave shall be; 
A ruse was mine to enter in, 
Your arm alone can exit win. 
Tlahuita said: — My arm has won, 
It wins again, ere I am done. 

They reach the yard, and climb the hill, 

And journey on for weal or ill, 

She knew his name and her's he knows, 

Zeona, or the mountain rose; 

Zeona and Tlahuita are 

Ere morning on their journey far. 

Well was the hour for them, that she 

Had passed her life on hill and lea, 

For every path upon that isle, 

And every crag and deep defile 

She knew, and by the lake they found 

A boat and soon were outward bound. 



TLAHUITA. 27 



With skillful oars the shallop speeds 
Among the waving tules and reeds, 
Unto the faithful guardian old, 
Who waits the youthful warrior bold. 
Tlahuita leaves his love, and turns 
The boat where Kmlon's altar burns, 
Beneath the arch and massive walls 
He passes to the mystic halls. 
Then once again the changeful folds 
Of tinted veils the youth beholds, 
And hears the words: — O stranger here, 
Bold is the one who will not fear. 
Then from the walls the veils aside 
Were cast, no more a throne to hide, 
And brighter glowed the cavern's way, 
He saw again the dread array. 

He said: I sought the stranger's land, 

I found the foeman's hall, 
And there I heard the bold command, 

We on the outposts fall ! 
With stately tread the martial lines 
Pass quickly down the steep declines, 

My foemen they were all. 
My father's spear and shield were mine, 
I bring them here to Emlon's shrine, 
And now for vengeance call. 

He felt the senate's fiery gaze, 
A voice spoke from the altar's blaze: 
Swear by this shrine no peace to know 
While Uxil hills may shield a foe; 



z8 



1XAHUITA. 



Swear by the blood stained spear and shield 

To fight the foe and never yield. 

He gladly spoke the fateful word, 

An instant not a murmur stirred, 

Then with a thundering shout they cry: 

Hail, chieftain ours ! for you we die. 

Down from the tiers they madly leap, 

Around the altar's blaze they sweep, 

As flashing weapons loudly clang, 

The chant of war the warriors sang. 

Up to the throne the youth was led, 

Unto the prince their vow was said; 

Then under cover of the night 

They leave the hall and seek the fight. 



The chieftain found the guardian old, 

Would he the mystic scene unfold ? 

The old man said: A remnant they 

Are of your father's grand array; 

Too few to meet the wily foe, 

Too many slavery's bands to know. 

Well you were tried, your spear and shield 

Will triumph on the battlefield. 

Six score of warriors cross the lake, 

Six barges laughing ripples make, 

When moonless night a veiling cast 

Around the silent men who passed. 

They reach the island at the side 

Zeona did Tlahuita guide, 

He traces well his swift retreat, 

No sound is heard of moving feet, 

Up, up they climb, they mount the hill, 



TLAHUITA. 29 

And see the castle dark and still. 
They spy the court and view the hall, 
Then hide within the cavern's wall. 

With morn the foeman's martial lines 
Pass gaily down the steep declines, 

Again to seek the fray; 
Each guard alone for else repines, 

For they at home shall stay; 
But ere an hour they find the strife, 
Where foemen grant no foe his life, 

But come to burn and slay. 
Tlahuita finds the chieftain gone, 
He comes upon the open lawn, 
His warriors kill the sentry band, 
And o'er the hall he takes command. 
The castle's lord returned to find 
A wary foe before, behind, 
He boldly tries to force the gate, 
And firmly meets a warrior's fate. 
He falls and dies, the castle's lord 
At last has met a due reward. 

Again the barges swiftly glide 
Across the placid Uxil's tide, 

Upon their homeward way; 
Zeona soon will be a bride, 

And joyous is the day. 
True are the words of Emlon's shrine, 
Tlahuita rules the lake's confine, 

Gone has the spectre fray. 



3° MABEL MKRN. 



MABEL MERN. 



Among the isles of Puget sound, 
When sunrise glints the wavelet's crest, 
The smuggler vessels veer around, 
Like weary birds at home to rest; 
The thousand isles of Puget sound, 
When gloaming purples o'er the deep, 
Behold the vessels outward bound 
Like birds across the waters sweep. 
The sloops go out, the sloops return, 
The cruiser seeks their haunts in vain; 
For them no beacon lights may burn, 
Yet bold, they dare the inland main. 

Destruction island's lonely cove, 
And San Juan's fair and placid bay, 
Grant rest to those who nightly rove, 
And sleep and dream the livelong day; 
The tide rip's roar the smuggler finds 
Sweet music on the midnight air; 
He knows the reefs, and speeding winds 
Will swiftly take him to his lair. 



MABEI, MKRN. 31 

The gales may blow, the waters beat, 
The laden craft again returns; 
The smuggler lives a life complete, 
Though for him not a beacon burns. 

O thousnd isles of Puget sound ! 
Between your rugged shores I roam 
Again the days I veered around 
The point, and thought my sloop a home. 
Though fairy vessels sped the straits, 
My haunting craft was speediest there; 
Again in youth I cross your gates, 
And find once more my chosen lair. 
The green waves are the same as yore, 
Around the verdant isles they play; 
The stars look down not less, not more, 
But man and boat shall pass away. 
Among the isles of Puget sound, 
Though ships go out, and ships return, 
No more my dainty craft is found, 
Save, in the song of Mabel Mern. 



Within the deepening gloaming light 
Was seen a gliding ocean sprite, 
The fairy craft, the smuggler's pride, 
Soon danced along the dimpled tide; 
By San Juan island's rocky strand, 
And Friday Harbor's slopes of sand, 
It passed into the placid bay, 
Its anchor in the cove to weigh. 

Upon the height a longing gaze 



3 2 MABEI. MERN. 

Across the bay was cast, 
For creeping through the purple haze 

Appeared a dipping mast; 
The watcher said: No more I fear 

The ill of sea or storm, 
My lover bold is drawing near — 

Then rose a girlish form; 
Upon the slope she quickly sped, 
Unto the shore her footsteps led, 
To meet the one who oft did rove, 
And wait his love within the cove. 

They parted as the window gleams 

Cast on the slope their tiny streams, 

The youth was filled with youth's own dreams, 

But she forlorn shall be; 
For could she be a smuggler's bride, 
Within the reef's retreat to hide ? 

Or dare the inland sea ? 
But with the beams of morning bright 
Awoke the maid to musings bright, 
The trysting place upon the shore 
Would every hope of youth restore. 

Though happy was the morning hour 
They passed within their cosy bower, 
There came a chill and stifling sigh, 
And clouds o'erdark the lovers' sky. 
She said: A smuggler on the sea 
Or land, can never wed with me. 
He answered: Then if Mabel Mern 
Will not be mine, I'll not return, 



MABEI, MERN, 33 

For I will seek the cruiser's way, 
And dare its swiftness night and day; 
In thought he paused, he saw her tears, 
And heard her sighs proclaim her fears, 
The youth was changed, a man was he, 
He said: My love, I quit the sea; 
A voyage o'er, my very last, 
And ever silent is the past. 
The brightening eyes and happy smiles 
Repaid the loss of dreary isles, 
And joyous in the sunshine they 
Passed lightly on life's fitful way. 

He said: That Mabel may be mine, 

My arm shall bear a fair design, 

The anchor and the chain shall be 

The sign my love is true to me. 

Her slender fingers press the steel, 

Yet, wound not more than she would heal, 

If hurt they must, a kiss will tell 

The wounded arm is quickly well. 

And then he spoke: — Unfading chain, 

Bind me and mine with breakless strain, 

And bid me unto her return 

When I a home for her shall earn. 

Adieu, my love, the sunbeams hide, 

My vessel waits the ebbing tide, 

The voyage done, the journey o'er, 

I quit the sea and you adore. 

She heard the merry sailor song, 

And saw the white wings glide along, 

But when shall fade her lover's form, 

Again she sighs and is forlorn. 



34 MAB1X MERN. 

The lingering days pass with the tide 
Which flows along the island's side, 
Still, nevermore the youth returns, 
In vain the lonely maiden yearns; 
Then came the message o'er the sea, 
The smuggler lad no more is free. 
His fairy craft, his youthful pride, 
Lies sunken in the sullen tide. 
The roses of her cheeks shall fade, 
And lillies white their place invade, 
Her rippling laugh and merry smiles 
No more the passing hour beguiles. 

'Twas then a swain with wealth and power, 
Though old, would woo the lovely flower, 
And said her sire: — My love must yield 
When fate its regal sway will wield; 
For gracious is the offer kind, 
And honor fair my child will find. 
Could she a bride unwilling be, 
When one she loved was o'er the sea? 
She thought, perhaps, her father's friend 
Unto her hope an aid would lend. 

She said: There sailed the bounding main 

A youthful sailor brave, 
His dainty craft could scarcely deign 

To touch the crested wave, 
When dancing with the zephyr's song 
It gaily tripped its way along 

Unto the secret cave; 
But now it lies beneath the tide, 



MABEIi MERN. 35 

Within the sullen sands to hide, 

While he a prisoner shall be; 

O were it mine to make him free. 

The suitor said: I have the power, 
Ask but the boon this very hour, 
My vessels o'er the billows sail, 
My pennants daunt the speeding gale; 
But, why a kindness thus to lend, 
Is he a kinsman, or a friend? 
She answered: Friend alone is he, 
A friend of youth, though dear to me. 
He frowned, yet, soon it passed away, 
For soon might near the wedding day. 

The promise said, the artful swain 

Would cut the prison bands in twain, 

At least, within the fortress cell 

The lover of his love to tell. 

The youth was found ; from passing themes 

He turned to love's unending dreams; 

Perhaps, the lot of Mabel Mern, 

A wayward girl, he chose to learn. 

Her love forgot, the love of power 

Did haunt the changeful island flower, 

Till riches at her feet were laid, 

And wedded was the pretty maid. 

May hope of years be rifted, lost 

Within a moment, and the cost 

Not trace the pain which leaves alone 

That one and turns his heart to stone ? 

They parted — one in prison walls, 

The other unto gilded halls. 



36 MABEX MERN. 

Unto her home the aged swain 
Returned and told his mission vain, 
How fortune, kind in every need, 
Unto the youth was kind indeed. 
The warden's child his moments shared 
When he unto that port repaired, 
She was his love, and she must save 
Her lover from a felon's grave; 
So, in the night's lone, silent hour, 
She freed him, and the gloomy tower 
Hears now a father's mourn instead, 
His daughter with the youth had fled. 

They saw the tears bedim her eyes, 

Once ruddy cheeks were white, 
While gazed the sire with stern surprise, 

The suitor with delight; 
And then he said: The past forgot 

Will make the present fair, 
And future happy if our lot 

Is such that love may share. 
Give me your daughter for my bride, 
And we upon a sunny tide 
Will sail, no lowering clouds to mar 
The brightness of a guiding star. 

No more were ruddy, nor were pale 
Her cheeks, nor did her answer fail; 
Across the threshold passing she 
Reached forth her hand and said: My plea 
I give, pray heedful to it be. 
One year this day my hand is yours, 
Betrothed by parents' will; 



MABEI* MERN. 37 

One year this day your word assures 

My lot is not for ill; 
Ask not my heart, for that I gaye 

When girlhood's happy dreams 
Roamed with a youth upon the wave, 

Which rippled with our themes; 
But this request I ask alone, 

If duty calls, I fain 
The gracious wedding day postpone, 

Till I return again. 

He grasped her hand and gladly cried: 

Your will is law for aye, 
A fleetful year I will abide, 

If nears the wedding day; 
And duty fair may say, my child, 

In other lands sojourn, 
Unto that voice I reconciled, 

Will wait your fond return. 

The maiden heard the envious sigh, 
And whispered words when passing by, 
But on her brow no glow of pride 
Appeared, and kindness naught denied. 
Again the fond, remembered ways, 
She sought and thought of happy days, 
And often said: The promise true 
I made I keep, though kept to rue; 
Not mine to see the wedding day, 
For duty calls me far away. 

Away she sails beyond the isles, 
Where endless sunny summer smiles, 



38 MABEL MERN. 

Though there the fever's pallid hand 
Touched many a one within that land; 
She was a nurse, and Mabel Mern 
Wished not the hour of her return. 
There oft the hours, when free from care, 
The musings of the waves to share, 
She strayed the beach and quiet cove, 
Again in thoughtful mood to rove. 

Thus passed the changeless days and years, 
Sereneness came instead of tears, 
When night, indeed, o'erclad the sea, 
A tempest moaned its fiendish glee; 
But came the morn serene and mild, 
Dark night had borne a rosy child 
Of azure skies, and peaceful seas 
Which dimpled with the passing breeze. 
And then she sought the beach again, 
To look upon the breaking main. 

Along the path she softly treads, 

She climbs the rugged way, 
And looks beyond the granite heads 

Upon the sifting spray; 
But as a passing glance is cast 

Across the waters, she 
Beholds a wreck, a riven mast 

Is drifting on the sea. 
Upon the steep she quickly sped, 
Among the crags her footsteps led 

Unto the rocks below ; 
Her hopes and fears appeared and fled, 

Like tides which ebb and flow. 



MABEI, MERN. 39 

To save the seamen from the waves 

She hurried to the reefs and caves, 

But heard no sound, except, the moan 

Of breakers on the walls of stone; 

Yet, when her glance was seaward cast, 

She saw again the drifting mast. 

A man was bound unto its side, 

And rose and fell upon the tide, 

Till near, and she his life to save, 

Rushed in and grasped him from the wave. 

With willing hands the bindings twain 
She loosed to bid him live again, 
But trembling paused, the anchor's hue, 
The chain and letters must renew 
The throbbing, fainting in her breast, 
Which breathed the sigh she wished repressed. 
Ah, love, undying love did say: 
Work willing hands, life ebbs away. 

He woke, in muteness looked around, 
He saw the wreck, and heard the sound 
Of breakers' roar, and sighed: The Dawn, 
My vessel, rests that reef upon, 
My crew have passed beneath the wave — 
Why have I thus escaped the grave ? 
Emotions strange must fill her breast, 
Emotions which she wished repressed, 
She strove to .speak, a whispered sigh 
Alone was Mabel Mern's reply. 
Then came the wreckers from the hill, 
Though love would speak, yet, love was still. 



40 MABEL MERN. 

For she unto her vow was true, 
And he was faithless, that she knew. 

Strange is the lot of those who love, 

And sad the passing hours, 
When but a word might bid them rove 

The pathways strewn with flowers; 
Should one prefer the piercing thorn 

O'er which love's footsteps tread, 
Unto the paths where joys adorn, 

And blossoms wave instead ? 
O fate, we hearken to your will, 
Which like keen thongs will bind; 
Though hope is dead, a despot ill, 

The one who loves shall find. 

Thus did the ceaseless canker burn 
Within the heart of Mabel Mern, 
And with the longing felt before, 
She saw her lover leave the shore; 
And as the sailor sailed away 
He would again the anchor weigh, 
To find the one like one he knew, 
Who promised ever to be true. 

But duty brushed the thought away, 

And rang the sailor's strain, 
Heave O ! heave O ! a-leu ! belay ! 

Again we sail the main; 
Then quickly was the storm forgot, 

And dangers of the sea; 
The sails are set and braces taut — 

A second mate is he. 



MABEI, MERN. 41 

Unto the homeward port he glides, 
And friendly winds and sunny tides 
Are his until the anchor fell, 
And told the voyage home was well. 

With heavy heart the seaman sought 

The owner of the Dawn, 
For from the loss no more he thought 

To sail the seas upon. 
The doors were closed, the mansion dark, 
And silence reigned throughout the park; 
He paused beside the sculptured stair, 
And thought a cottage home more fair, 
And passing through the gilded hall 
He knew that riches were not all, 
For restless on his couch did lie 
The owner proud, doomed there to die. 

He listened to the seaman's tale, 
How fiercely drove the southern gale, 
The wreck and loss; then uttered he, 
A vessel's loss is naught to me. 
I would efface a haunting past, 
This night on earth may be my last. 

Once lived a maiden pure and fair, 
My heart was set her love to share, 
But true unto a youth was she, 
A bride of mine willed not to be. 
To win her love I falsely said 
The youth another maid had wed; 
Lone sadness on her being fell, 
And not for me the tale was well. 



42 MABEI* MERN. 

She left her home, a nurse to be 

Where sank the Dawn beneath the sea. 

I would efface the ruthless hour, 

For I had ships and wealth and power; 

I sought the youth and made him ftee, 

Again a captain he should be; 

He sailed the Dawn when lost to me. 

The owner sank upon his bed, 

And uttered: — Mabel has not wed. 

The seaman crossed the portal wide, 
And reached again the fitful tide, 
Then o'er the seas where sank the Dawn 
He sails, but Mabel Mern has gone. 
He finds the wealth of voyage o'er, 
He quits the sea and roams the shore, 
At last, with joyous heart, to learn 
Where dwells his loved one, Mabel Mern. 

Unto the home of youth to dwell, 

Returned the peerless flower, 
To bring her sweetness to the dell, 

And brighter make the bower; 
And oft the village folk did say, 
As Mabel passed upon the way, 

We have a happy hour. 
Yet, dear to her were wooded hills, 
And murmurs of the gushing rills, 
And music of the briny spray 
Was dearer than the village way. 

The sunset dimmed upon the height, 
And twilight grey foretold the night, 



MABEL MERN. 43 

When o'er the wave a dipping sail 
Was wafted by the rocky pale. 
She saw the graceful vessel glide 
On Friday Harbor's peaceful tide, 
Then rose a merry wild refrain, 
The rumbling of an anchor chain, 
And to the shore a shallop flew, 
And Mabel's dreams again renew. 

A stranger reached her home, and told 
His name unto her mother old, 
The welcome said, he soon did learn 
That quickly home was Mabel Mern. 
And as her footsteps crossed the hall, 
He listened for the welcome fall, 
And scarce restrained a gaze, as he 
Did answer to her curtesy. 

The evening meal was soon prepared, 
The seaman had their bounty shared, 
When by the fireplace glow he said : — 
A life upon the sea I led, 
And of a mate of mine I tell 
A tale to pass the evening well. 

One summer day in years agone, 

We had a berth upon the Dawn, 

As good a craft as sailed the sea, 

A mate was I, a captain he. 

We gladly sped before the wind, 

And left the fading shore behind, 

And happy were when shrieked the storm 



44 MABEI< MERN. 

And lashed the waves to fierce alarm. 
But as a calm enrobed the sky, 
And bade the lessening billows die, 
A gloom would shroud him, as if ill 
Awaited on the ocean still. 

I asked him why that danger's voice 

Alone could make his heart rejoice ? 

He answered: — Storms the past dismiss, 

I love the storm alone for this. 

Yet, this he said: Kre deep sea bound, 

My vessel sailed on Puget sound; 

My craft a smuggler was, and she 

L,ed all upon the inland sea. 

Her name was known on either shore, 

The Lone Star was the name she bore; 

I dared the cruiser night and day, 

But when she came I fled away. 

Oft was advance, and oft the chase, 

The cruiser lost each ready race, 

Till dolesome fortune wrapped its chain 

Around me and retreat was vain. 

Becalmed, I hid within a bay, 

And found, they took my boat away. 

A captive was my fate, to dwell 

A prisoner within a cell, 

Until a stranger came and said: 

A youth is oft to error led, 

And for you now the wind's refrain 

Blows softly on the ebbing main, 

For you are free, a vessel mine 

Waits your command to cleave the brine. 



MABEL MERN. 45 

The portals barred their bolts withdrew, 

For what the stranger said was true; 

The Dawn, my noble vessel, lay 

At anchor on the sleeping bay. 

This was confided unto me 

By my companion of the sea, 

And this — One promised to be true, 

And she was false to him he knew. 

Thus were the hours we sailed the sea, 
Though brief the future was to be; 
The hour was fair, the wafting breeze 
With crystal foam o'er flecked the seas, 
And towering hills with crests of white 
Are rolling in a changeful light. 
The vessel, dipping, onward glides 
Like a sea bird upon the tides, 
And soon a stranger vessel nears, 
A rival clipper she appears. 

Set all the stays, the captain cried; 

Let every sail the race decide. 

But rose the rival on the crest, 

The freshening wind brought her abreast, 

Though through the tossing seas we whirled, 

With all the vessel's sails unfurled. 

Then with a peal all else was stilled, 

Stern fate misfortune for us willed, 

For on her beam the Dawn was cast, 

And sails were blown from every mast. 

Soon was a strife of force and skill, 
For cliffs arose foreboding ill, 



46 MABEI/ MKRN. 

And breakers' sullen, dismal roar, 
Was sounding from the nearing shore. 
The seamen battled bravely well, 
Still, I alone this tale may tell, 
For pressed aback, each beat did find 
The breakers nearing from behind; 
Then came a crash, a mast was gone, 
And helpless was the gallant Dawn. 

The anchors' clasp held not the strain, 
We tried the boats, it was in vain, 
She struck and moaned her very last, 
A billow came and swept me past; 
Then sleep, a peaceful sleep was mine, 
Till wakened by the warm sunshine. 
I sought the beach and coves, but ne'er 
Was one companion there to share 
My weal, they all had met the fate 
Which I, perhaps, too soon await. 

The mother rose, but Mabel fair 
Did linger by the fireside there, 
With hope returned to listen more — 
He died not on that lonely shore. 



RONALD DOON. 47 



RONALD DOON 

At May day morn the village bell 
Rang out the hour within the dell, 
While happy swains and damsels fair 
Unto the village green repair. 
The merry shouts and artless songs 
Are heard as pass the festive throngs 
The chosen one to crown that day, 
Sweet Rosamond, the queen of May. 
And as the ribbons from the wind 
Were gathered, and the pole entwined, 
Arose again the joyful chime 
Unto the dainty winding time. 

How gracious is the fairy spring, 
Arrayed in robes of flowers, 
We gather now her offering 
To decorate the bowers. 

O wind the lines, the silken lines, 
And crown the queen of May; 
And as the red the white entwines, 
The blue shall lead the way. 



48 RONALD DOON. 

We welcome you, O fairy spring, 
We honor you, our queen, 
And may the songs which gladly ring, 
Give answer as we ween. 

O wind the lines, the silken lines, 
And crown the queen of May; 
And as the sunlight brightly shines, 
We have a pleasure day. 

When rose the children's glad refrain, 

The aged forms were young again, 

And garlands round the pole they placed, 

The blossoms sweet the maidens graced; 

Then as the festal scene was o'er, 

They passed unto the placid shore, 

Where veiled in changeful sheen and shade 

A lake its winding journey made. 

Away! away! the leader cried; 
An hour the witch's isle abide; 
The barge awaits us, and will we 
The lonely haunt of Rachael see. 
The damsels o'er the gunwale pressed 
With laughter and with mirthful jest, 
And youth and love and gallant swain 
Thought not amiss to court again. 
Then o'er the waters came the lay, 
Fair Rosamond, the queen of May. 

The gloaming's veiling softly fell, 
To darken o'er the resting dell, 
And bid the work to stay, 



RONALD BOON. 49 

While gathered round the folk to tell 

The gossip of the day; 
To see the kine from bondage freed 
Stray slowly o'er the grassy mead, 

And pause beside the stream, 
While gaily would the children speed 
To catch the firefly's gleam. 
Then as the rising bonfire's glare 
Bade circling lines its brightness share, 
Across the lake a glad refrain 
Was wafted from the barge again. 

The boat the sloping landing pressed, 
The song was still, the oars at rest, 
And on the paths and grassy lane 
The gay procession passed again; 
Then on the green the youthful dance 
With swiftness made the hours advance. 
'Tis ladies choice, the prompter said, 
Choose you, my fair, who you will wed. 

The damsels coyly hid their eyes, 
And blushing swains assumed surprise, 
But soon a maiden gently rose, 
Her choice to all there to disclose; 
Then followed all the leader's way, 
Save one, and she the queen of May. 

With downcast eyes and crimson cheek, 
She heard the simple people speak, 
Fair Rosamond, be not afraid, 
The village charge dies not a maid. 
But vain the words, and vain the call, 



50 RONALD DOON. 

She dare not choose before them all, 
For two had wooed the queen, and they 
Bach longed to press her hand that day. 

A youth of kindly form and mien 
Advanced unto the gentle queen, 
And said: — Forgive an errant's prayer, 
If threads of silence bind the fair; 
My partner for the evening be, 
And leaders of the reel are we. 
She touched the offered hand, and they 
With artful steps the time obey, 
For down the line and back again 
They revel in the quickening strain; 
More lovely every moment she, 
And none that hour gallant as he. 

Much envied was the comely youth 
By those in homespun clothes uncouth, 
Though were the whispered words: Is ill 
The thought which bade her voice be still, 
For Rosamond by secret rune 
Was given unto Ronald Doon. 
Are childhood's happy hours forgot, 
And woman's love thus quickly naught ? 
Must courtly manners win the day, 
And manhood hear the answer nay ? 

When Ronald Doon had heard the voice 
Which jesting said, 'tis ladies' choice, 
A flush o'erlit the youthful brow, 
And gladness he dare not avow; 



RONALD DOON. 51 

He felt the glances on him cast, 

Too slowly were the moments passed, 

For silent was the Mayday queen, 

Though others lightly crossed the green. 

He thought, she modest is, and she 

A peerless woman is to me; 

But as the stranger crossed the lawn, 

The flush which lit his brow was gone. 

He saw her smile and tender glance, 

She rose to lead the merry dance, 

And then he thought, a child is she, 

And well the hour they merry be. 

Vain hope, and vain the youthful glow, 

Too soon he knew what many know; 

Not once she glanced at Ronald Doon, 

Nor was his lot to ask a boon, 

For happy only seemed the queen 

When with her choice she tripped the green. 

Upon the placid lake did glide 
A boat, it reached the village side, 
Where on the shore with gloomy mood, 
Strolled Ronald Doon in solitude. 
With skillful hand the craft was turned, 
The boatman Ronald Doon discerned, 
And said: — Why lonely thus to stray, 
When pleasure tunes the youthful lay? 
Are shadowy banks and moonlit skies 
More fair than Rosamond's soft eyes? 
Unheeded was the boatman's jest, 
And scarcely had the shallop pressed 
Its bow upon the bank, it bore 



52 RONALD DOON. 

The youth and boatman from the shore. 

It crossed the lake a fleeting mile, 
And reached the witch's lonely isle, 
Then said the friend: We Rachael find-, 
A light is gleaming through the blind. 
The huntsman paused beside the door, 
He cast a deer upon the floor, 
And spoke: — My lady old, a boon 
I ask, console my Ronald Doon. 
Since early morn I've tracked the deer, 
A roving, careless mountaineer, 
And thought a happy hour was mine 
Where sang the birds and waved the vine. 

My boat at evening crossed the lake, 
The ripples from the bow did break, 
To dance around me with the stars, 
Which twinkled from the watery bars; 
Then fairer seemed all things, till I 
Upon the bank this youth did spy. 
Round wheeled my boat unto the oar, 
It rested at the village shore, 
For there was Ronald Doon, my friend, 
I would to his desires attend, 
To you I bring him — seer speak, 
If yours the deer, why is he meek ? 
She answered: Sir, a rune I wind, 
If unto me you grant the hind. 

'Tis well, the ready huntsman said, 
Tell me the hour when I shall wed; 



RONALD DOON. 53 

Are her eyes blue or merry brown, 
A simple maid, or of renown ? 
And by the fire they listened while 
Old Rachael did the hour beguile. 

She said: — My sir, full many years 

Have passed before my way, 

Yet, oft a prairie scene appears, 

Until my very being fears 

Again the dreadful fray. 

Along the prairie's rise and fall 

Our wagon line did slowly crawl < 

Unconscious of a danger near, 

Although alert the pioneer; 

But rose the cry, prepare ! prepare ! 

The dust clouds gloom the distant air. 

We knew the signal but too well, 
For soon arose a fiendish yell, 
Yet, in the circled line were we, 
Each wagon must a bulwark be. 
Round swept the Indian horse, and came 
The shot like hissing, seething rain, 
And yoemen fell, and women fair 
The stern defence did nobly share. 
Thus hour by hour, a weary day 
We passed in ceaseless, heartless fray, 
Until the darkness on the plain 
Commanded that mad strife to wane. 

Of all my kin alone was I, 

A son and husband learned to die, 

And life had seemed as lost to me, 



54 RONAI/D DOON. 

Till roused my heart unto a plea. 

There on the ground a neighbor lay, 

And at his side a child in play, 

A tiny boy, too young to know 

The scene which bade my tears to flow. 

He said: — Kind friend, care for my child, 

And I with death am reconciled. 

He grasped my hand, and with a sigh 

He died, could I his wish deny ? 

Fierce blew the parching southern wind, 
None dared to leave the fortress kind, 
For hidden lurked, the vengeful foe, 
Till thirst would bring a surer woe. 
Could Rachael hear the fainting moan ? 
Nay, she would seek the stream alone; 
Thrice dipped my pail, and thrice did I 
Pass up the hill and needs supply, 
And once again would seek the way, 
Though voices bade my steps to stay. 
Down the steep slope I lightly passed, 
Yet, dared no glance around me cast, 
For throbbed my heart as not before, 

wished I were that moment o'er. 

Within the copse I sought the rill, 
With trembling hand the pail did fill, 
And like a child my pathway sped 
Where fear with quickening footsteps led; 
A shot rang on the dawning air, 
The warriors shouting left their lair; 
Up the steep slope my buckets borne, 

1 cheered the people sad and worn, 



RONALD DOON. 55 

And grasped a rifle to defy 

Who made my son and husband die. 

The warriors charged; the foremost foe 

Before my steady aim fell low; 

Rose their dread yell beside the stream, 

Our answer was the bullet's scream, 

They came, we met them, and the day 

Passed ere the foemen fled away. 

When sank the sun behind the hill, 

We charged and gained the cherished rill. 

O pioneer, oft was your lot 
To cross the desert waste for naught, 
Except, alone to strive and die, 
Forgotton on the plains to lie. 
There rusts the long deserted tire, 
There rests the ashes of the fire 
Enkindled from the wagon home, 
Which bade the pioneer to roam. 
There now are bleaching on the plain 
The bones of those who toiled in vain — 
Yet, not in vain, for bravely they 
Marked out with death a living way. 

We won the day, we sought the West, 
And paused within a glade to rest, 
To rest, upon the past to view, 
And count the loss of yoemen true. 
'Twas early morn we reached the dale, 
The menfolk would explore the vale; 
But scarcely had they hid from view, 
When rose a shout, and all anew 






56 RONALD DOON. 

Retraced the streamlet's sloping side, 
Prepared for what would there abide. 

Our leader said: — Beyond must be 
A scene our portion oft to see, 
For ruin, waste and needless woe 
Bid there the stranger's tears to flow; 
The smouldering coals and broken beam, 
And coals dispersed are by the stream. 
Then forth the yoemen boldly wind 
Among the groves the lost to find, 
But vain the hope, for gone were they, 
Perhaps, to death, would it were nay. 

While saddened by that hour were we, 

Arose a shout, and o'er the lea 

The leader in his arms did bear 

A tiny sleeping baby fair. 

Upon the sward he placed the child, 

And said: — I scouted o'er the wild, 

Though naught I found of friend or foe, 

Until I trailed the streamlet's flow. 

My glances keen were cast before, 

A footprint left the sandy shore, 

I followed it, and there did find 

A covered wagon in the blind; 

Within I looked, and there I found 

This babe that slept through woe around, 

While was its mother borne away 

To torture ere would end the day. 

While listened all, the babe awoke, 
And smiled, it reached the hearts of oak, 



RONALD DOON. 57 

We said: With us she comes to dwell, 
She is the blossom of the dell; 
To Rachael is the charge, and she 
Our sunny Rosamond shall be. 
Thus with the orphan, Ronald Doon, 
Two were the gems which lit my room. 

The hunter said: A simple tale 

I hear, and not of visions pale, 

If yours the deer, awake the charm, 

With power to either heal or harm, 

For I well know that Rachael old 

Brings summer fair, or winter cold. 

She smiled, and answered: Not the hour 

To fright you with a hidden power; 

But listen, for a rune I say, 

'Twas given me a winter's day. 

Cold blew the wind, a whitening cloud 
Cast o'er my isle a sullen shroud, 
And one by one the window gleams 
Did darken to the hour of dreams. 
My charges tired of childish play, 
Within their restive mantles lay, 
And o'er the long, but fleetful past, 
My random, roving thoughts were cast. 
Then came a footstep soft and low, 
A woman passed the fireside glow, 
And by me stood, so weird she seemed, 
I thought, perhaps, I only dreamed. 

She said no word, but raised her arm, 



58 RONALD DOON. 

Aud on the mantle placed a charm, 

She pressed a spring, a picture there 

I saw, so like the woman fair. 

I looked upon the picture then, 

And saw my baby waif again; 

She closed the lid , once more to press 

The spring, and from the strange recess 

Another image met my view, 

A boy with cheeks of ruddy hue; 

I read his name within the charm, 

The woman raised again her arm, 

And pointing to the girl, she spoke 

One word, the first the silence broke. 

I Rosamond's wee cradle found, 
A locket from her breast unwound, 
And back unto the firelight there 
I came the likeness to compare; 
'Twas gone, the woman too was gone, 
The secret I must find anon. 
Thus ends the story, gracious friend, 
My title to the deer defend. 

He answered: Well, we leave the isle 
To visions weird and Rachael's wile, 
For Ronald Doon this hour with me 
Shall roam a hunter wild and free. 
Adieu, my hostess kind, we go 
To seek the chase ere morning's glow. 

Away will glide the hunters true, 
The beagles loudly sound, 



RONALD DOON. 59 

While gaily skims the light canoe 
The sombre cliffs around. 

Let sheen or shadow move before, 

Or hidden rock appear, 
Not such can stay the dipping oar, 

Nor cause the shore to near. 

More loudly comes the sounding bay, 

The stag must seek the lake, 
It drinks and lingers, hastes away, 

They see its rippling wake. 

Then falls the oar with quickening time, 

The shallop nearer speeds; 
While rises loud the hunter's chime, 

Though still the quarry leads. 

O noble stag, an effort make, 

The covert hides you soon ; 
The bank is reached, the echoes wake, 

But missed has Ronald Doon. 

Thus passed the fleetful hours of May, 
Thus flitted past the summer day, 
Though oft unto the village came 
With throbbing heart the village swain, 
But would as oft his steps retrace 
The winding coves to seek the chase; 
Then said the village folk: — If he 
As faithful to his love would be, 
As is his heart for mountains wild, 
A stranger would not wed our child. 



60 RONALD DOON. 

They little knew the hopeless love 
Which bade him to the wildness rove. 

Think not a woman all in all, 

Nor haste unto a maiden's call: 

Thus spoke the friend: — For here may we 

More beauty than their ringlets see. 

Can azure eyes with stars compare? 

Or brown with evening's softness share ? 

The morning's raiment strows the way 

With jewels fairer all than they. 

No voice is sweet as is the rill's, 

No song like that the woodland fills 

When morn awakes the birds to glee, 

And nature chants her melody. 

Let Rosamond be village queen, 

And you be Ronald Doon serene. 

As Ronald heard the boatman's jest, 
He stood of humbler mold confessed; 
The golden strings of love were twain, 
And soon was every longing vain. 
Again his shallop sought the isle, 
For Rachael would stern fate beguile, 
And listened she unto the tale 
Of one who loved when love must fail. 
She said: 'Tis well, and better far, 
As thus, than dare an evil star; 
Cold are the ways your lot to rove, 
While her star is the orb of love. 

He heard the words, and sad did seem 
The ending of a boyhood's dream; 



RONALD DOON. 6l 

He said: I leave the very day- 
Fair Rosamond weds Leonard Ray. 
He paused surprised, for with the name, 
Old Rachael cried, the same ! the same ! 
Know, Ronald mine, no fateful day 
Weds Rosamond with Leonard Ray. 

May morn enrobed with blossoms sweet 
Tripped o'er the lawn with dainty feet, 
And with each step a flower grew, 
To deck the fields with every hue. 
Then flowed the song, there weds to-day 
Our Rosamond, the queen of May. 

The village folk the carol heard, 
And listened to the festal word, 
That Rosamond is wed at noon, 
Though sad the heart of Ronald Doon ; 
And some would say the choice was ill, 
Though others paused in musings still; 
The charge and pride of dale and town 
Must not perceive the moodful frown. 

Who knows the lot of those who love, 
From childhood in its dreams to rove, 
One gleaming light alone before 
They follow and that light adore. 
What plans for future joy are theirs? 
And trouble only pleasant cares, 
But clouds are lowering o'er the way, 
Their dreams are not as yesterday; 
A false gallant, a maiden's whim, 
Leaves but a sere and broken limb. 



62 RONALD DOON. 

As Ronald heard the wedding strain, 
His boat crossed o'er the limpid plain, 
He saw the merry throng abide 
The coming of the festal tide, 
No further quest was his, for he 
Well knew another's bride was she. 

An eager crowd the church had filled 
Before the wedding march was stilled, 
And then they heard the pastor say: 
Who gives the village charge away. 
But none arose, for up the aisle 
Came Rachael old of hidden wile. 
O'erbowed with years, yet, tall and gaunt, 
Her glance did every gazer daunt, 
She said: None dare to clasp those hands, 
Till all hear Rachael's just demands. 

Fair Rosamond, our ward, we found 
Beside a stream when western bound, 
Her parents borne to death away, 
Though she was saved that month of May. 
She was my charge, upon her breast 
A dainty golden charm did rest, 
Which I have kept to bide the time 
To solve a secret only mine. 

We reached this lake, no more to roam, 
Upon my isle you built my home, 
And summers passed and winters came, 
A stormy night my fireside flame 
Was dimmed, a wraith appeared to me, 



RONALD DOON. 63 

A woman sad and fair to see. 
My babes were sleeping in their bed, 
On Rosamond she looked, and said, 
My child, and placed near me a charm; 
I knew the hour was not for harm. 
The woman pressed the locket's lid, 
A likeness by the clasp was hid, 
'Twas Rosamond's that mystic charm 
Must fill my heart with weird alarm. 
The locket closed, and opened, when 
I saw a likeness there again; 
'Twas of a boy — that midnight wild 
The woman slowly said — my child. 
A name was there, my glance did stay, 
I read the name of Leonard Ray. 

She paused, and raised her bony arm, 
And held to view a golden charm; 
She said: My youthful stranger say, 
Was this not yours at yesterday ? 
Surprised, the groom replied: 'Tis true, 
The same, my love, I gave to you; 
But paused surprised, for there did rest 
His locket on his loyed one's breast. 

Old Rachael grasped the trinket rare, 
And cried: My children, these compare, 
'Tis this which gave the youth his name, 
The likeness his, it is the same 
I saw in former years, when she, 
His mother, did appear to me; 
And I read on that gracious day 
What I now read; 'tis Leonard Ray. 



64 RONALD DOON. 

A brother and a sister stand 

To wed, yet, hear my just demand. 

She passed the lockets through the throng, 
It gazed upon each likeness long, 
And then the pastor gently said: 
Our ward may never kinsman wed. 
The village folk passed to the green, 
And Rosamond was Mayday queen. 

Unto the sea a wanderer strayed, 

And sad the passing hour, 
The stately crags and sylvan glade 

Had lost their soothing power. 
Upon the wave his lot was cast, 
And southern calm and northern blast 

Bade days serener go, 
As here and there the ship was cast 

Upon the ebb and flow. 
But came the voice of civil war, 
Which Ronald Doon heard from afar, 

And thought again of home, 
For if they must his country mar 

He would no longer roam. 

Across the main the vessel flew, 

Above it waved the colors true; 

It crossed the gulf and reached the bay, 

The fleet at restful anchor lay, 

A nation's pride that hour must be 

The ruler of the inland sea. 

Forth flew the signals from the mast, 



RONALD DOON. 65 

The hearts of men were beating fast, 

Ere came the word: Weigh anchor ! weigh! 

The crew shall have a galla day. 

Each vessel felt the lessening strain, 

The funnels belched a deep refrain, 

And slowly on the flooding tide 

They sought the river's entrance wide. 

As Ronald Doon beheld the line 

Wind slowly through the freshening brine, 

A brief suspense, an age it seemed, 

Told else than warrior youths have dreamed; 

But sounds the band's inspiring strains, 

His ardor kindles in his veins, 

Then from the bank rolls forth a sound, 

True manhood in his soul is found. 

From jutting points on either side 

The shells are screaming o'er the tide, 

And ramparts hidden here and there, 

Belch forth amain a ruddy glare. 

Then thunders roll, the vapors rise, 

And grim destruction sweeps the skies. 

The slowly moving vessels deign 

No answer to the livening strain, 

Till screams a shell which strikes the guide, 

And wounded is the nation's pride. 

Aroused, the noble vessel frowns, 

The thunder o'er the wave resounds, 

In battle smoke she quickly lies, 

And gun on gun awake replies. 

Fate, stern to all. the hand of woe, 



66 RONALD DOON. 

Forth reaches, lays the chosen low, 

For as they by the barriers wind 

The fated one is left behind: 

And Ronald Doon that hour shall know 

His riven craft the first to go. 

He heard the shouts which loudly rang, 

The steel which on the armor clang, 

And then she seemed to moan, and sigh, 

As if was known her lot to die. 

Down, down she sinks beneath the tide 

On which she once did nobly ride. 

Then Ronald Doon, a captive bound, 
His lot within a prison found; 
Fate, strange to others than to him, 
Had molded from a maiden's whim 
A warrior for the northern land, 
A nurse to aid the southern band; 
For Ronald for the stripes and stars, 
And Rosamond beneath the bars, 
Enlisted, one to battle well, 
And she a nurse's tale to tell; 
And thus they met beside the sea, 
Where he a prisoner must be. 

Upon his brow did fever tell 
The tale the marshes knew too well, 
As Rosamond for friend and foe 
From camp to prison pale did go. 
She found him, love, returning then, 
Brought him to life and health again ; 
She saw him youth's companion dear, 
The days were fair if he was near. 



RONALD DOON. 67 

He saw her but the one of yore, 

He loved her, and he thought not more. 

Back to their childhood's home they came, 

Back to the lake and bower, 
Unto the village folk the same 

They were as in child's hour; 
The people hastened each to greet, 
And Rosamond was just as sweet 

As when the village flower. 
Then rose again the wedding chime, 
The children sang the Mayday rhyme 

Anear the altar side, 
Old Rachael, trembling, clasped their hands, 
For there was naught to stay the bans 

Of Ronald and his bride. 



68 SARRAMNO. 






SARRAMNO. 

Beside a lake within the sunny land 
Where Aztec warriors made their final stand 
When heartless Cortez came, a convent old 
Stood many years by history untold. 
There Aztec priestesses by promise bound, 
Like vestal virgins strayed the walled in ground, 
And kept the sacred fire's undying light, 
That the fair world reeled not to endless night; 
Each fifty years upon a mountain high 
A spark was struck, that spark must never die, 
And the fair virgins of the priestly throng 
Fed the bright flame and sang their sacred song. 

A captive chief, Sarramno, Aztec's foe, 

Across the lake unto the hall did go, 

Sore wounded in the strife, he knew his lot, 

To die a victim of the priests he fought. 

The shore was reached, upon the arbored side 

A waiting throng of priestesses abide, 

The wounded chief with gentle step to bear 

Unto the hall, his every ill to share; 

And precious balm by skillful priest ordained, 

Healed the torn side by vengeful javelin stained. 



SARRAMNO. 69 

Surprised, Sarramno viewed the temple place, 
The fair attendants' noiseless hovering grace, 
And said: — What fate is mine this very day, 
When foemen here a captive will not slay? 
A priestess answered: Soon the chieftain brave 
Shall meet the Flying Tigress in her cave; 
Rise, freely rise, and roam where pleasures call, 
Till midnight's hour, then seek the altar hall. 

Sarramno strayed about the temple place, 

Admiring maids beheld his manly grace, 

But he, enwrapped in thought and passing themes, 

Scarce glanced upon the youthful vestal queens, 

Till one appeared, his passing glance was stayed, 

No warrior bold could not admire the maid. 

He said: Your eyes make gems forget their hue, 

Accept my praise, though I must say adieu. 

She answered: Nay, I bide the altar's rays, 

A priestess there knows not a warrior's praise. 

Encharmed, Sarramno would a chieftain be, 

Assault the hall, and set the priestess free, 

Free for an hour, until his manly arm 

Might hold her close and keep her safe from harm. 

The hour of midnight woke the priestly throng, 
And solemn tones proclaimed the hallowed song; 
Then rose a priest, he spoke in cadence low, 
Bring forth the captive, he his fate shall know. 
Up the dim aisle the chief, with stately mien 
Came firm, and on the altar looked serene; 
He heard the words come from the rising flame :-- 
Here learns a Toltec foe of death or fame; 



70 SARRAMNO. 

Within a cavern of this mountainside, 
The Fying Tigress and her aids abide, 
Abyssmal queen, she haunts these sacred walls, 
And carries woe beyond the convent halls. 

Her charm, Celeca, is a mystic stone, 
Within her cave it rests, and glows alone, 
Save, with the fire reflected from her eyes; 
It speaks to him who calls — the caller dies. 
Our gods protect us in these massive gates, 
For those who roam the hills she ever waits. 
She is a sister to the heavenly queen, 
Ixquina, love's own goddess, fair, serene 
In love or war, the chieftains of the air 
Haunt the moon palace and forget their care. 

Each Toltec captive lord we send to slay 

The Tigress and Celeca bear away, 

But none return, they died beside her stone, 

To them are Michlan's realms no more unknown. 

In Michlan's world they dwell in penal night, 

And draw the sun unto its morning flight; 

From West to east within the underland, 

They toil, and you may soon enlarge their band. 

If dares your arm this Flying Tigress slay, 
And bear Celeca from her cave away, 
You live a peer of gods, if not, you die 
There, else or here, we mercy shall deny. 
Swear by the gods that you will this perform, 
Or else, return and ever rest your arm. 

The vow was said, and forth the prisoner free, 



SARRAMNO. 7 1 

Passed down the aisle to do the priest's decree; 
Yet, scarce beyond the massive gate he passed, 
His glance upon a woman's form was cast; 
A priestess spoke, he saw her graceful mien, 
And knew he found again his vestal queen. 
She said: I give to you a vase and bow, 
And arrowed quiver, if you there will go, 
With these alone you can the monsters slay 
Which bar the gates along the dismal way. 
The arrows bind the serpents you will find, 
The broken vase shall make the Tigress blind; 
And if success is yours, each wile o'erthrown, 
In silence be before the witch's stone, 
Save, ere you speak, its changeful gleaming side 
Beneath a mantle you shall safely hide. 

Within his mantle's fold the vase was passed, 
Unto his side she bound the quiver fast; 
The slender bow replaced the shapely spear, 
His sword remained, and thus he felt no fear. 
Soon were the prison walls and queenly maids 
To darkness left, he sought the witch's shades, 
For glows his soul with manhood's ardent will, 
And every mountain seems a sloping hill. 

He finds a path, and follows where it leads, 
He sees a cave and longs for glorious deeds; 
He entered in, and soon a fiery glow 
Rose from the dark abyssmal depths below. 
A woman's form, but of a hideous mien, 
Upon the burning surge did rise serene; 
She sat upon a car, and to its yoke 



72 SARRAMNO. 

Were serpents bound, exhaling lurid smoke. 
In awe the warrior gazed, with wondrous awe, 
Which bade him from the awful scene withdraw, 
But ere upon him came the fleeing mood, 
Before him stood the hag with spleen imbued. 

She cried: My guardians, break the yoke, and lend 
A willing aid your consort to defend. 
With fiercer madness wound the serpents' coils, 
And snapped asunder were the slender foils, 
Each gave a spring, and in the cavern they 
Pressed on the warrior with their fangs to slay. 
Down fell the sword, a snake was cleft in twain, 
Vain was the blow, and every thrust was vain, 
The head ofnopped upon the pavement fell, 
But in its place two snapping heads did dwell. 
The body twain, a separate form each took, 
And hissings dread the fiery cavern shook. 

The weakened arm relaxed its nerves of steel, 
For every blow despair must soon reveal; 
He drew the bow, the arrows sped amain, 
The serpents pierced, all in the cave were slain. 
The hag, outwitted by the skillful dart, 
Proclaimed the strife and for the brave did start; 
Her grisly feet were armed with curving claws, 
And monster fangs extended from her jaws; 
Like pendulums her hairy bosom swung, 
She screeched from fury and the cavern rung. 
He moved aside and whirled his ready blade, 
Her headless body on the floor was laid; 
Within the chasm sank the fiery glow, 
And back into the depths the vanquished go. 



SARRAMNO. 73 

Sarramno's gory fingers dried his sword, 
The victory won, he seeks the near reward; 
Behind he leaves the scene of fire and night, 
A rippling stream flows in his pathway bright, 
He drinks, he bathes in water odorous sweet, 
And strides along another foe to meet. 
Beneath his feet was marble, and the roof 
Upheld by columns, seemed like golden woof, 
The walls of crystal waved in sheen and shade, 
Which here and there a changeful forest made, 
And mirrored limpid streams that flowed and formed 
Ivow dainty isles by rarest flowers adorned. 

Yet, as he passed, on every side did stand 
A chieftain robed in mail of Toltec's land, 
All silent, pale, to him none answer gave, 
Although he spoke unto the beings grave; 
Then he approached and touched a rigid form, 
It pierced the armor which once did adorn. 
Sarramno, wondering, backward stood, to see 
Each warrior still, though each must living be; 
But as he wondered, came a sweet refrain 
In pensive cadence o'er the jewelled plain, 
And as he looked, a woman neared, so fair, 
The chieftain's gaze was changed to ardent stare. 

She said: To you, my lord, I come and ask 
The kind performance of a simple task; 
I am a woman here constrained to live 
My lonely days in pathways primitive, 
And at my door a fallen rock reclines, 
It bars the entrance to my grot's confines. 



74 SARRAMNO. 

He saw the dimpled arms of slender mien, 
Which softly glowed beneath a textile screen, 
Her graceful form, the youthful step, the glance 
Of merry eyes her beauty to enhance, 
And said: I gladly am your willing slave; 
I follow, fair one, lead me to your cave. 

Along the lawn they passed, the fieetful way 
She whiled with words as but a woman may, 
He thought no more of sentries' silent guard, 
Of glorious wars and warriors' bright reward, 
But facinated by her mirthful eyes, 
The captive chieftain saw not her disguise. 
Soon o'er the pathway drooped the arches low, 
Their footsteps paused beside a river's glow 
Like amethyst. She said, my boat for you 
Waits at the bank, glide on the water blue. 
In rhythm soft her voice and paddle fell, 
With rhythm sweet rolled by each rippling swell, 
As skillful hands the shallop frail did guide, 
Along the cavern to the grotto's side. 

Around the walls a sloping causeway led, 
Where changeful lights on fairest jewels fed, 
And charmed the chieftain was, till with surprise 
A fairer light he saw in woman's eyes. 
She smiled and said: Within my arbor we, 
Can never pass while closed the gate shall be, 
For there the rock demands I here shall stay, 
Will not a warrior's arms roll it away? 

The shallop quickly to the shore did glide, 



SARRAMNO. 75 

A moment more they reached the grotto's side, 
Sarramno's arms clasped round the boulder well, 
It gave a plunge, and rolled a circling swell- 
She laughed in concert with the rippling sound, 
And murmurs sounded in the coves around. 
Among the shadows of the grot's retreat 
They pass, and soon an ample courtyard meet. 
Lit by the beauty of a lucent glow 
Which from the roof in orient streams did flow. 

The woman said: Find here my fair domain, 
Here welcome be and from no weal refrain; 
With willing hands she every dish prepared, 
On viands rare the happy chieftain fared, 
Drank deep delight where every fear had flown, 
And with the flight forgotten was the stone. 

The woman rose, a silvery veil withdrew 
From off the table, to the chieftain's view 
Appeared a stone with quaintly angles lined, 
And carvings strange by sullen light defined; 
Within its surface, on a mirrored plain, 
Were changing scenes, to glow, yet, soon to wane; 
And then she said: My kind companion, see 
The passing shades of what your life shall be; 
And if you will your fondest hour be known, 
Speak forth, and hear the answer from the stone. 

Sarramno threw his mantle o'er the rock, 
And grasped his sword her witchery to block, 
Then rose his voice defiant: Tigress queen, 
Think not I fear your wiles, or fiendish spleen; 



76 SARRAMNO. 

But scarcely had his words begun to flow, 
When flushed her cheek and changed her eyes' 

soft glow; 
She tried to speak, but words she uttered not, 
A dismal wail his ear astonished caught: 
Her slender fingers unto claws became, 
Her graceful form an agile tigress frame; 
No more a wail, but forth a dreadful roar 
Rang out and he held back his arm no more. 
She fiercely at the waiting chieftain sprang, 
His ready sword on sounding armor clang, 
Vain was the effort, for upon the way 
Within her grasp a helpless captive lay. 

The Tigress round and round her fallen foe 
With cat like tread did softly, slowly go, 
Inert, Sarramno on the floor reposed, 
Beholding all with eyes in slumber closed. 
A tigress form no more the grotto ranged, 
For there, with awe he saw her body changed; 
Soon the lithe paws in grisly arms were made, 
Soon a hag formed within the passing shade; 
A hag, the same which o'er the fiery deep 
With the yoked serpents on her foe did sweep. 

From the hid stone she plucked the covering spread 

And with her fitful breath its glowing fed, 

Till from the stone the flames ascending high, 

Bade orient lights within the dome to die; 

And as she breathed, she crooned a weird lament, 

Which to the scene a hideous strangeness lent. 

Sarramno wakened, could in secret see 



SARRAMNO. 77 

The fateful witch and witness for her be; 
She waved her hand, and round her altar soon 
Men walked in rhythm to her dismal tune; 
Each silent, cold, apparent lifeless all, 
Seemed like automotons to heed her call. 
Sarramno, dazed, beheld the gliding men, 
And saw the silent sentries once again. 

She cried: O Toltec braves, your kinsman see 
By skillful hands a sculptured human be; 
Lead on the walk, I will commune with you, 
When this recruit is trained his part to do. 
Her body swayed, again the dismal tune 
With parted lips the panting hag did croon; 
Her swaying breasts were pendulums, which beat 
Time to the monotone in her retreat. 

Sarramno thought his fate was to remain, 

And mutely stand a sentry on her plain, 

But changed the thought, his sleep had worn away, 

He sought the vase which in his mantle lay. 

Down crashed the globe upon the mystic stone, 

A sullen roar was mingled with a moan; 

Dark fumes arose, in darkness was the scene, 

And choking, gasping fell the Tigress queen. 

When from the quenching cloud the sullen glow 

Above the stone in rising jets did flow, 

The chieftain drew his sword and smote his foe. 

Thrice in its circling path the blade had flown, 
Down, down it fell and crushed the gleaming stone; 
Then rumblings sounded on the cavern floor, 



78 SARRAMNO. 

Fierce flames arose where jets had been before, 
The courtyard trembles, and the cavern quakes, 
The dome is rent, within the sunlight breaks. 

Sarramno saw with awe the wondrous change, 
With deep surprise the passing wonders strange, 
For, soon the throng no more their vigils keep 
As sentries mute in realms of conscious sleep, 
But round the victor they with glad acclaim 
Shouted their joy as waned the cavern flame. 
The chieftain, standing by the strange array 
Of youths and aged, beheld the beams of day, 
And then he cried: My lords of Toltec land, 
Hear these my words, and hear the priest's 

command. 
Death was my portion, if I did not slay 
The Tigress queen and bear her stone away; 
The half performed can not my freedom buy, 
I crushed the stone, my portion is to die. 
Yet vain command, if convent walls we gain, 
And mine a priestess, trials are not vain, 
For homeward bound our way we quickly wend, 
And native cities and our homes defend. 

All silent were a moment, as in dream 
The motley warriors of the cavern seem, 
And then a shout awoke the echoing air, 
With flash of lance they left the witch's lair, 
And ere the day had purpled into night, 
They saw again the convent on the height. 

The Tigress queen, for treated thus so rude, 



SARRAMNO. 79 

Unto her sister's realms her course pursued; 

A bird she seemed, a tiny might of love, 

That sought Ixquina's queenly home above, 

Of gardens flowering with delight and song, 

Where babbling streams and fragrance played along. 

The inner portal of the moon she found, 

And entered in upon the heavenly ground; 

In pleasure fair, with every art to please, 

She found the queen adorned with mirthful ease, 

And thus she said: Your earthly sister greet, 

A moment taste the bitter with the sweet. 

Long I have lived within my cavern hall, 

Oft came the warrior at my feet to fall, 

His soul, encharmed, his heart was filled with love, 

He wished alone within my bowers to rove; 

But, fickle, I another lord would find, 

To prison's bond each former was assigned, 

Until an evil hour a warrior came, 

Vain was my art to glow the ardent flame. 

My beauty was his scorn, my arbors fair 

Gave no desire to him my love to share; 

A simple word I uttered, wrathful, he 

With art and might rose up in strife with me. 

My precious stone, Celeca, he has found 

Vain as a charm, each prisoner was unbound, 

And now he freely wends his homeward way, 

Can not your beauty bid my lover stay ? 

The heavenly gardens were that hour alone, 
Ixquina and her train to earth had flown, 
And at the lake before the morning they 
Await the warrior on his homeward way. 



80 SARRAMNO. 

Sarramno saw the convent walls arise, 

He said: We enter there not in disguise. 

They climbed the wall, they heard the sacred song, 

They saw the altar and the vestal throng; 

Alone Sarramno enters in, to gaze 

Upon the throng around the altar's blaze, 

He saw his priestess, clasped her in his arm, 

And rushed without amid the wild alarm. 

He cried: Away, unto our native land, 

Embark, embark, no more the flame is fanned. 

Within the barge they crossed the moonlit tide, 

And ere the morn within a cove abide. 

Beside that cove, Ixquina, fair and vain, 
With all the splendor of her heavenly train, 
Called forth her aids, the dwarfs, to trim the dells, 
And all her maids to play the rhythmic shells, 
While at the spindle, womanlike, would she 
O'erscan the web that there no weakness be. 
Sarramno saw a winding arbored shade, 
Which led within a pleasant tinted glade, 
Where sounds of melody arose, the strain 
Seemed wafted to him in a sweet refrain. 

Adventures new appear before him then, 

He strays the path which leads unto the glen, 

Till rushed the dwarfs in crowds, with fairest 

flowers 
To scatter at his feet like sunny showers; 
Then graceful nymphs with music shells and song 
Before him danced and led the way along. 
Encharmed, the chief forgot the past, for he 
From paths delightful rushed to mystery. 



SARRAMNO. 8l 

There fanes ethereal, domes of starlit skies, 
And walls of lambent flame above him rise, 
Till fleece like drapings canopied the scene, 
And all was changed unto the foliage green. 
Then brighter were the glints, for every flower 
A light became, ordained by heavenly power, 
And choirs of damsels sang a merry song, 
While passed the raptured warrior through the 
throng. 

With busy art the queen her spindle wound, 
To mould the figures on a roseate ground, 
Yet, she was heedful to her queenly mien, 
Disguised to please, though seeming all serene. 
Round speeds the wheel, and round the fibre flies, 
She feels the ardent glow of mortal eyes, 
For as she sat in heavenly robes arrayed, 
Before her presence other light was shade; 
With mystic art within the web she drew 
The foliage shades and stargleam's softest hue, 
And threads of light by slender fingers twined, 
A texture formed of morn and eve combined; 
Of morn, ere rose the glow of brighter day, 
Of evening, ere the crimson fled away. 
The mazy robe around her shoulders fell, 
And the queen rose to feel the hour was well. 

Amazement filled Sarramno's soul, for he 
Such radiant beauty ne'er before did see; 
And then she said: Receive a lover's due, 
My bowers are yours, I only am for you; 
Forget your loved one — I am yours to day, 
Forget the priestess and be mine for aye. 



82 SARRAMNO. 

He scowled, and thought again of witch's harm, 
He turned aside, she waved her slender arm. 
And in a moment, old and palsied, he 
Beheld the arbors of Ixquina flee. 

O'er hill and mead he journeyed slowly on, 
Till towers arose hued like the golden dawn, 
And lawns with bowers shadowed here and there, 
Gave forth a wish their restful weal to share; 
Then o'er the paths by fragrant blossoms lined, 
He passed and rested in an arbor kind. 
While in repose, appeared the gilded fane 
To change and fade, a palace it became, 
With domes of pearl, and walls like radiant snow, 
While on its sides did golden columns glow, 
And gems, like rubies, windowed walls anew, 
Upon the lawns to cast a rosy hue. 

He looked in wonder, then upon the way 
Ixquina came enrobed in fair array; 
She smiled and sweetly said: Sarramno, here 
Is wealth and power, your destiny is near; 
The open portals wait your weary feet, 
And every art to please is yours to meet. 
He quickly rose, and with the willing guide 
Soon reached the golden arches high and wide; 
There wealth and pastime pictured dear and rare, 
Bade the old warrior their fond weal to share; 
Then said Ixquina: These are yours for aye, 
Let love be new and with me ever stay. 

Back quickly turns Sarramno, and again 



SARRAMNO. 83 

He seeks the wildness of the desert plain; 

Yet, ere from view, he glances on the hall, 

The view is changed, he sees a rugged wall, 

With ramparts, turrets, massive gates, while rise 

The gloomy towers to the clouded skies. 

Then to his side Ixquina fondly came, 

She said: Sarramno, see the hall of fame; 

Restray the path, and there your portion see, 

Abide the hour of glorious destiny. 

He goes, and sees a martial host, and hears 

The clang of shields and merry ring of spears; 

He looks on warriors bold, they hail him king, 

Then the loud shouts throughout the hallways ring. 

Ixquina said: Your portion now behold, 

Love me and be a glorious warrior bold. 

Sarramno hastens from the golden scene, 
Within a wilderness he seems serene; 
He entered in a grove, and quickly he 
Where waved the branches did a palace see; 
Its crystal pillars rose to arches fair, 
And every path was paved with jewels rare. 
Soon from the palace came a gleeful throng 
Of damsels dancing, singing on the lawn, 
And as he looked upon the merry dance, 
He saw their queen unto his bower advance. 

With veils of shade and sunlight her array, 
Alone and artless was she on the way, 
Beneath a tree reclined the lovely one, 
And all the damsels from the scene were gone. 
A pool appeared between them, limpid, pure, 
Its waters did another form conjure, 



84 SARRAMNO. 

For there he sees his likeness, worn and old 
His form once fairest he must there behold; 
But changed the likeness, youth again returns, 
And for his youth his very being yearns. 

The lovely queen reposing by the tree, 
Said: Old Sarramno, cross the pool to me; 
Less bold than you have passed a greater deep, 
Youth comes with crossing, love awaits the leap. 
He glances back, and sees a safe retreat, 
He lingers, for the present hour is sweet, 
Then turns aside; the priestess holds the chain 
Ixquina strives to break, but strives in vain. 
She said: Sarramno young, behold the way, 
Age, pain and sorrow bid you backward stay. 
As stilled her rippling voice, his one retreat 
Was darkened, rocks and thorns his glances meet, 
The pool had vanished, but a lawn of flowers 
Appeared between him and his charmer's bowers. 

Soon densely grown were nettles, thorns, a brake 

In every path, save one, his vow to make, 

And creeping, grasping was each stinging vine, 

To drive him where did rest the queen divine. 

She uttered: Come, let love be ever young, 

Know the fond joys of which my maids have sung. 

He rushed upon the thicket, felt the ire 

As closed upon him matted thorn and brier, 

And though Ixquina thought a fool was he, 

She gave to him the claim of victory. 

Relenting, she Sarramno quickly led 

Back to the barge before the night had fled, 



SARRAMNO. 85 

And youth to him returned, the chieftain brave 
With one he loved passed on the limpid wave. 

O'er lake and hills the fearless band pursues 
Its homeward flight, no warrior bold to lose, 
Though many aged by trance of years did see 
No trace of home in lands where home should be; 
But bold Sarramno with his loving bride 
Dwelt in a hamlet by the water side, 
Away from witch's hate and priestly power, 
And happier seemed as passed each happy hour. 



note: — The tales heretofore printed in this book are 
a collection of my earliest writings. Sometime prior to 
the year 1890, I wrote a number of such tales, most of 
which have been lost, and a number of which were not 
worth publishing. During this summer of 1903, having 
a few spare hours, I concluded to place in type the tales 
appearing herein, and while I realized they were not true 
poetry, and the placing of them in type was uncongen- 
ial work for me, I now look upon them with no regret, 
but, with pleasure that some of my earliest attempts in 
literature are to be in book form with my later products. 



86 



A reviewer once said my books were not only written 
and published by myself, but for myself. I think he 
heard that somewhere. I do not believe a reviewer is 
original and so witty; still, he undoubtedly wrote the 
truth, and if he had included these tales in his remarks, 
he would have written the whole truth, and more than 
the truth, so, get him, Beelzebub. 

I have still a number of verses to place in this book, 
and when the requisite number of pages are printed, 
I will have them bound and present a few copies to my 
dear friends, who probably will not look beneath the cov- 
ers, and a few I may mail to some magazines, so that the 
generous and competent critics my turn the book down 
because it is not "reliably published." 

Well, more than my poor self will need reliability 
when the sparks fly upward; so, let it pass. 



GIXSZIG. 87 



GINSZIG. 



ADVERTISEMENT- I, who have traveled a great deal, in 
my mind, haviug passed through a small part of heaven and 
considerable of hell during the last forty years, and visited 
many stars and planets, including Mars— also in my mind— in 
the poem of Ginszig relate a conversation "nhich passed be- 
tween myself and an inhabitant of Mars named Thqyzsufcp. 
This conversation was held on a mountain overlooking the city 
of Ginszig, on the planet Mars. The martial's language was 
as difficult for me to understand as his name to pronounce; 
but his form was nearly round, and much of its circumference 
face, therefore, I solved the meaning of his multitudinous 
grimaces, and in a short time understood all he said. 

The reader of this poem will be charmed with the purity of 
the inhabitants of Ginszig, and the exalted sentiments ex- 
pressed in this poem. Permit me to say, there is not a breath 
of burlesque or satire in the entire song. It is the song of the 
stars, from a star, to the fairest of all stars, the Earth; and I, 
the medium who transcribes it, advertise it by saving, it is "fit 
for household reading," which is saying a good deal. I cross 
my heart and repeat, the matchless purity of the inhabitants 
of Ginszig will astound you. 



Upon a mount of Mars I, mortal, stood, 

That mountain seemed much like our glorious Hood, 

And up the steep a bold Gezama climbed, 

He reached the summit and this couplet rhymed; 

I, T — h — o — y — z — s— u — k — p, 

From heavenly heights look down and Ginszig see. 



8 8 GINSZIG. 

Beholding me, a human, where he stood, 

He twitched his face much like a Frenchman would; 

He seemed all face; I saw each thoughtful twitch, 

And felt that man of Mars must have the itch; 

I found the key, and with the key I turned 

His lock of thought and Ginszig then discerned. 

The man of Mars was shaped much like an egg, 

From him protruded neither arm nor leg; 

A moon when full appeared his curious face, 

And I the following lines read from grimace. 

Upon this height I stand; a wanderer 

Has for a moment changed to ponderer, 

For there is Ginszig formed by nature fair, 

A lovely body, but no soul is there. 

At day her necklace is the emerald heights, 

At night the blaze of her electric lights; 

Her robes are verdure trimmed with blossoms sweet, 

But mud, ah, mud forms sandals for her feet. 

In mud of nature and in mud of art, 

Wades Ginszig fair without a soul or heart. 

She wades in sin, once verdant robes are red, 
Should Virtue blush? ah, Virtue tears should shed; 
Her blossoms sweet to scarlet soon will change, 
For fiery Mars finds not that color strange. 

Leave to sin, and touch a happier key, 

This city is as fair as martials see; 

I'll point the scenes, and you shall soon confess 

That Ginszig still has much of loveliness. 

There are the queenly heights, where always go 



GINSZIG. 89 

The tourists who this paradise would know, 

And Ginszigers' who strangers' wealth would win, 

First take them up and then they take them in. 

There is the hillside park, where once was made 
A reservoir beneath the fragrant shade; 
Though lined with tar, it seemed of woven wire; 
It soon was dry, and Ginszig taxed was drier. 

Within that park a fair menagerie 

Is kept, which many tourists go to see; 

When they suffice with watching monkeys witty, 

They take a bench and view those in the city. 

There is the river, 'tis a lovely stream, 
Beside it once a poet dreamed a dream; 
His poem was so beautiful, his river 
Gave other poets gall stones in their liver. 

There is the bridge a corporation wrought, 
Once on a time that bridge our Ginszig bought; 
For that, this timely warning I recall; 
Step lightly, those who cross, or it will fall. 

That is the bridge of size — of extra size, 

If measured by the purchase price; but lies 

A greater wonder in a river ferry 

Which Ginszig bought because it free would carry. 

Leave price with purchase, touch another theme, 
The birds of Ginszig are no idle dream; 
One is a vulture, it was called a Mayor, 
It kept a quagmire in each thoroughfare, 



9° GINSZIG. 

Till summer came; then every farmer wagon 
Bumped on its mission like it had a jag on. 
The name was changed, but changed was not a 

feather, 
The same old bird, a Board, seemed wintery weather. 

For it improved a street which was so charming, 
It dug it up to do some sewer farming; 
Then trenched for gaspipe, then for purer water, 
While only smiled the plumber and the potter. 
Then Ginszig hurled the bird from its position, 
But, phoenix like, it rose called a Commission. 

This bird improves the streets by fencing them, 
And builds new streets by not commencing them; 
It decks the roadways with the cast off slabwood, 
And beautifies much like a smallpox scab would. 

Beware a death trap if is planked a street, 
If paved you find it raise on high your feet; 
Look firm before you, then prepare to jump, 
Mark well the spot and save yourself a bump. 

There elevated ways o'ercross the sloughs, 

There downward gaze the men who have the blues, 

And breathe miasma for an antidote, 

When they the vulture's printed tax roll note. 

This bird has fledgelings which it calls policemen, 
Their duty is to graft, or rather, fleecemen; 
And every one they grasp beholds before him 
The same black mother which was always o'er him. 



GINSZIG. 91 

Upon these streets at night the robber stands, 
The martial hears the call — hold up your hands ! 
Each stranger there is welcomed in this style — 
Half shot, full shot, held up, in Ginszig smile. 

The wolfish specials of the highways know 
The robber friend, the robbed one to be foe; 
Report the hold up and no guard will fail 
On some pretext to keep you safe in jail. 

Perhaps, they'll hold you as a witness till 
They find the robbers, which they never will; 
At least, in truth you iwll be punished well 
For being robbed and fool enough to tell. 

There — there — there — the red-light buildings are, 
There — there — there are back rooms from the bar; 
The martial enters, then the special knocks, 
And law protected vice all virtue mocks. 

Some churchly martials those same buildings own, 
A princely pillar holds that one of stone; 
And that, another — ah, that very feature 
Arose before a well known Ginszig preacher; 
He had the nerve this sin once to decry, 
He read the church roll — I must heave a sigh 
For one so bold — the members rose enmasse, 
He got a solar plexus — let it pass. 

Leave robbers and the hypocrites a time, 
The view is changed; heboid a scene sublime; 
There Ginszig's mind shines through those massive 
fanes, 



92 GINSZIG. 

A soulless mind enclosed with weighty brains. 

There is the Goryorian and its tower, 
Its literary nian is much a power 
To line up Ginszig on election day, 
And print the tax list at twice triple pay. 

A poet to that paper sent a poem, 
The critic took it, for he did not know him, 
Then asked the author if he had a dollar; 
The poet fainted — the unwelcome caller 
Was swept into a basket with his meter, 
While grinned the critic like a fire eater. 

Within that tower the weather man predicts, 
And to the martials mails his gilded bricks; 
The next day's weather bores and finds the brass, 
And Ginzig knows the weather man an ass. 

Beneath that tower the Moonlight Bellygram 
Is published and it is not worth a damn ; 
An author sent a book to its reviewer, 
He might as well have cast in a sewer. 

Around the corner is the Googag Urnal, 
It came so late it almost seemed nocturnal; 
Defect to cure, a Hoe press it imbedded, 
And printed Googag's every page red headed. 
Such headlines flamed that Ginszig read at night 
Without a lamp unto its sweet delight. 

These papers are most beautiful and fair, 
Much like a cross eyed woman with red hair ; 



GINSZIG. 93 

I mean the martial women like an egg, 
Without the human solace of a leg. 

Yet, on the minds of Ginszig martials feed, 
They do not think at all, they simply read; 
That read to-day is found untrue to-morrow, 
With new untruths from breezy sloughs to borrow. 

The food they eat is corporation mush, 
And advertising hash and soupy gush, 
Dished up with brains — ah, brains and wondrous 

mind ! 
O gootchy— gootchy — gootchy, are you blind? 

Leave things sublime to dear sublimity, 
New scenes arise, another view we see; 
Stand on the bridge and see the lovely river 
Like starry arrows in a rippling quiver; 
It enters in the city pure imputed, 
But like the martials leaves it much poluted. 

Behold the clock within the sitely tower, 
O Mars, why are you moonless at this hour? 
What poem could a poet on this ridge 
Write if he saw a moon, that tower and bridge ? 

Twelve is the hour, but Goryorian's eleven 
Marks the steep angle which all climb to heaven; 
As points the clock, so points a moral rhyme — 
That Ginszig always is behind the time. 

Now look on Moss's island, in its arbors 

Full many a dainty white winged vessel harbors; 



94 GINSZIG. 

It is mosquito smitten; yet, the martial — 
I mean the lady — to that place is partial. 

Mosquitoes bite where flesh is unprotected, 
Judge therefore where the ravage is selected 
On Moss's island — 'tis the tryst of lovers, 
And their protection is the bower which covers. 

Below, Dawn island purples on the water, 
Among its groves there dwells no son nor daughter, 
Save, lowing kine; yet once in every while, 
There martials glide and smile a quiet smile. 

Of all, but one, one place in Ginszig knows 
Serenest virtue — virtue and repose; 
Who enters there a hearse that one will carry, 
Behold the spot, it is the cemetery. 

That is the place of graves — think it not rude — 
A martial ate a dish of breakfast food, 
And poisoned by the name died in an hour, 
When health was her's on ordinary flour. 

That is the place of tombs. There I have read — 
She passed away on sanitary bread; 
And there again — Of cereal coffee deep 
A martial drank and went to endless sleep. 

The Ginszig stores have windows of plate glass 
To catch the martials as they loiter pass, 
And every passing woman glances through 
The window panes to catch her likeness too. 



GINSZIG. 95 

And if a man another martial slays, 
These windows show old shoes to curious gaze, 
Some picked up rubbish labeled — murderer's own, 
There gawk the Ginszigers like eggs of stone. 

With new sensation, pictures like to it 
Pose in the windows and each makes a hit, 
For martials are such fools, and so unread, 
The label tells to them the truth is said. 

There crowds will flock to watch one hypnotized , 
An eater of a snake is highly prized; 
On some new incubator chickens hatching 
Crowds gaze like monkeys watching monkeys 
scratching. 

Anear that hill the armory is found, 
Of all of Ginszig that is hallowed ground, 
For there are guns, the guns are made to shoot 
A man as if that man was only brute. 

They call it war, they call it very glory 

To slay a brother on a hillside gory; 

Find me a brute which slays alone for slaying, 

And I will show a skunk its odors spraying 

The battlefield like smoke — ah, holy smoke, 

So says the church when martials feel the yoke. 

See there the ship upon the lovely river, 
Look at it well, then look well to your liver; 
If it is white the Ginszigers are scoffing, 
If it is ruddy all their hats are doffing. 



96 GINSZIG. 

It is a fighter, and the martial s there 

Stand on the decks boldly to do and dare; 

What means the phrase ? A brother slays a brother, 

Find me a beast and I will show another. 

Away forever with the things of war, 

Leave such alone unto the fiery star; 

There are two buildings, one is called Employer, 

The other Union — each I term destroyer. 

These buildings are alive — and others also, 
Sleep in a Ginszig bedstead, you would call so 
For help — no matter. These buildings are alive, 
And like the martials with each other strive. 

They grandly rise much like a house of brick, 
When built they swear each can the other lick; 
Then brickbats fly towards the houses pit, 
But outside martials are the creatures hit. 

The war is over and the houses shake 
No more until will come a mightier quake; 
Ah, ruddy Mars will roll — but, let it pass, 
While every outside martial is an ass. 

There is a building called the sailor's home, 
It also is alive from pit to dome, 
Much like hotels of Ginszig, or its jail; 
Should you there go put on a coat of mail. 

It is protected by a go-between , 

Though shanghied martials view another scene 



GINSZIG. 97 

With pockets empty, while the runner pays 
The old black vulture on election days. 

There is a sweat-house, though in miniature; 
You wonder why some martials shall be poor ? 
Because they sweat — the sweatless one is rich, 
Though of a shirt he has not even a stitch. 

The only time to sweat is when the sun 
Shines overhead, then rich you may become, 
If in the shade you just perspire for health, 
And know that happy men have all true wealth. 

When Mars was cursed it was decreed he sweat, 
That curse is on full many martials yet; 
The sweat-house is the sequel, not the curse, 
That word once sworn spoke only of the purse. 

Who sweats should sweat, the sweatless one be 

sweater, 
As martials less perspire are martials better; 
Though purse be empty and the sweat-house closes, 
None have a purse, and each in shade reposes. 

But truth is fiction when a fool will read it, 

A sweat-house comes to all who think they need it; 

As Ginszig thinks let Ginszig be an hour, 

And on each square will grow a thorn or flower. 

Leave such to sophists, I of Ginszig write, 
Look on the place and scenes anew endite; 
Here are some dentists waiting for a pull, 
They fill your mouth with anaesthetic full, 



98 



GINSZIG. 

Then give a yank which lifts you from the chair, 
You wriggle, squirm and bleed in much despair. 

For this, they chance to you a pleasure launch, 
With choice of automobile swift and staunch, 
And for the total but a dollar charge- 
Why should the County Court leave them at large ? 

Because, they are not crazy; I confess, 
Though Ginszigers may have one tooth the less, 
And lack a dollar, yet, the dentists know 
That fools unto the advertisers go. 

Of advertising fiends, one, called divorcer, 
May pose a lawyer, though his work is coarser; 
He advertises that he takes no fee, 
Except, divorce is gained and you are free. 

Full many martials who would be untied, 
And quickly find another groom, or bride, 
Seek for these lawyers, they seek for a judge 
Who holds against the marriage knot a grudge. 

You pay the costs, the costs increase each day, 
And half the sum the lawyer's fee will pay; 
Prepare your evidence, the court will hear 
Your side alone— add to it but a tear, 
All manufactured through the lawyer's art, 
The word is said and single is your heart. 

And there are others; see the Ginszig jail, 
Of all the vermin there, there without fail, 



GINSZIG. 99 

The pettyfoggers are the very worst, 

They bite the hardest and they bleed the first. 

The prisoner is brought into the cell, 

The lawyer enters like a fiend from hell, 

Goes through the patient's pockets, takes his sum, 

Advises him to be to questions dumb, 

Then squares it with the — who? well, never mind, 

A face is turned, a hand is held behind. 

Among the fiends of Ginszig, some are doctors, 
Who signed their fair diplomas are not proctors; 
At least, not martial, though I think the devil 
Signed with a spark and raised them to his level. 

Rub down, rub up, and rub around, around, 
Bathe hot, bathe cold, what cure has not been found? 
Drink this, eat that — come in, come in, you fool; 
So say the doctors of the risen school. 

Call it massage, the women are masseurs 
For men, and men are women's choicest lures; 
Should Virtue blush? why, Virtue could not blush; 
She is far absent — what is there ? O hush ! 

But worse, ah worse — this is not household reading, 
Save, as a lesson; now my soul is pleading; 
Look well on Ginszig, and to-morrow look, 
The curse is spoken, soon is closed the book. 

Uuto the rooms the martial women stream, 
Vice is no monster, but a pleasant dream; 



I 



IOO GINSZIG. 

Call it massage, or term it but a pill, 

Down — down we go, and soon a nation will. 

All law is law — that is, if never caught, 
The breaker knows the law is broken not; 
Once caught by Cupid, she will chance the second, 
If she escapes she is a virgin reckoned. 

An hour leave social crime with other crime, 
This midnight blackness needs a pleasant rhyme; 
If what is said should make my soul remorseful, 
Condolences I grant a cart and horse full. 

Look at the slot machines, place there a nickel, 
To woo the goddess ever fair and fickle; 
You press the button and you pay the price, 
You lose a nickel and begin in vice. 

Then buy a ticket in the lottery, 
You want a ten spot, but five spots you see; 
The dollar passes to the Chink, and you 
Pass down a step and look on vice anew. 

There is the tiger purring, dreaming, smiling, 
To chance a case is truly so beguiling, 
You place a five, the lone ace wins, and then 
You are a prince of very gentlemen. 

The queen is fair, the knave is not a knave, 
Two for the one that turn a stranger gave, 
You chance again, this time the royals lose, 
And though a gentleman, you have the blues. 






GINSZIG. IOI 

Out from the card room to the midnight street, 
The broken martial seeks his home retreat, 
And tells of hold up — do you wonder why 
A wife is not a wife, and nations die? 

More to the point I now of Ginszig speak, 

The same black vulture with a red crowned beak; 

Look on the city, see the Rosy Lane, 

There women stand before each window pane. 

And though I should a massive volume write, 

All government I still would not endite, 

For methods change, and this the method new 

For paying taxes is discerned by you. 

For paying tax — how can these creatures pay? 

By being fined for vice three times a day. 

These martial ladies pay more than their rent, 
They form a sweat house for the government. 
Should Virtue blush ? ah, Virtue's tears should 

stream, 
Vice is no monster, but a pleasant dream; 
Dream of the time when gold will pave the streets 
Dream of the hour of parks and cool retreats, 
For what — for what ? for Ginszig — let it pass, 
But ere the hour say unto Mars, alas ! 

Whose daughter soon shall be by vultures preyed, 
That virtuous Ginszig strolls a promenade? 
Whose sister— ah, whose sister soon shall be 
There — there — there in company 
With whom ? for whom ? O turn the blackened 
glass, 



102 GINSZIG. 

Yet, ere the turning cry — alas ! alas ! 

Else is protected, here the gambler sport 
Is prince within his law elected fort; 
Saloons, his allies, outposts are around, 
They fire a volley of discordant sound 
And liquors vile upon the men of Mars, 
Each man succumbs a prisoner to the bars; 
Soon fleeced we find them, and the government 
Takes half the profits for protection lent. 



Few Ginszigers would stay this rule of vice, 

The many love it, for it pays the price, 

That price to-day is easing of the tax, 

But price to-morrow is a book of facts. 

Degeneration, ruin and decay 

Look down on Ginszig — Night resumes her sway. 

At this, the martial smoothed his wrinkled face, 

And kept an instant from a new grimace; 

I, mortal, cried: O man of Mars, be still ! 

Let Ginszig be as only Ginszig will. 

Upon this mountain I must surely think not, 

For thoughts are real — if I would have them stink 

not, 
Thoughtless I must remain in scenes like these, 
Till purer odors form and air to please. 
We humans are not bad, although not pure, 
But Ginszig martials all are rotten sure. 

With that the martial twitched his face anew, 
My thoughts o'er Mars to other cities flew, 



GINSZIG. 103 

And with my thoughts my inner eyes were turned 
On many a place, and there I these discerned. 
The same black vulture with its red crowned beak, 
The fledgelings waiting for the treasury leak, 
The rosy lanes, the red light houses which 
The churchmen owned — I think my face did twitch. 
I cried: All Ginszig ! then I turned the key, 
And down the steep the martial rolled from me. 



104 MISCELLANEOUS. 



I ENVY KNEW. 

I looked on a pillow and envy knew, 

For a maiden fair to see, 
With hair of brown of the prettiest hue, 

Rested, asleep was she; 
I looked on that one serene and fair, 
The pillow held her wavy hair, 

And it never envied me. 

I saw the embrace of her slender arm 

Around where I would be, 
I saw the imprint of her graceful form, 

Resting, so fair to see; 
The maiden slept on that pillow's breast, 
It ever her wavy hair caressed, 

And it never envied me. 

I envied more and I longed for more, 

And a word escaped from me; 
The maiden woke as I stood before 

That one, so fair to see; 
She smiled, and I knew if that pillow could, 
From the glance of her eyes on me, it would 

Forever envious be, 



MISCELLANEOUS. I05 

THE LOCKS OF JET ARE SILVERY NOW. 

The locks of jet are silvery now, 

And strength of youth with age is trembling; 

The agile form has learned to bow 

Unto the day of no dissembling. 

Brief were the hours of youth's delight, 

O night of age, swift be thy flight. 

Hope, passion, pleasure, cooled have found 
The heart no more with vigor beating, 
Good deeds and faith shall guard around 
The spirit to its goal retreating; 
Short was the path of noonday bright, 
O night of age, swift be thy flight. 

The twilight fades behind the hill, 
The soul returns to hours of dreaming; 
The footsteps at the gate are still, 
Yet, near the ones of yore are seeming. 
Soon is the hour that we unite, 
O night of age, swift be thy flight. 



WHAT IS A KISS. 

What is a kiss? Two rosy lips 
Upturned to meet another's, 
A pretty Miss, a touch of bliss 
From lips not like her brother's; 
But something here is left unsaid, 
Beware, O wary mothers ! 



106 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Do sunbirds seek the roses red 
To be alone on petals fed ? 

What is a kiss ? A pretty face 

Which glows beside another's, 

With sparkling eyes and feigned disguise 

The kiss is for her brothers; 

But something here is still unsaid, 

Beware, O cautious mothers ! 

A kiss should be on true love fed, 

And love is but a single thread. 

What is a kiss ? O fair one, tell ! 
Just watch the sunbird hover 
Around the rose, which softly glows 
With sweets its pinions cover; 
It sips its fill and flits away, 
O wanton , fickle lover ! 
Why seek another rose to-day ? 
Can honied sweets no longer stay ? 

What is a kiss ? One thrill of bliss 
At love's engagement morning; 
The fond embrace leaves her a Miss 
The nuptual hour adorning; 
O come awa} T — what is unsaid ? 
She thinks no more of scorning; 
A first love has a first love wed, 
And curtains hide the bridal bed. 



NISCEU,ANEOUS. I07 

WHERE ZIGZAG FLOWS. 

From the snows of Mount Hood like a courser un- 

tethered, 
The Zigzag is racing away to the sea, 
And the Indian is standing there painted and 

feathered, 
As wild as the torrent which strives to be free. 

As he looks on the rapids which hoarsely are sound- 
ing 
The wrath of the war between water and stone; 
In a dream of the past to his horse he is bounding, 
And soon with the speed of the wind he has flown. 

By the clusters of pines and the Alpine-like floral, 
The streamlets are singing their summer away; 
From the moss covered groves to the mountain of 

laurel, 
They gather together in rollicking play. 

There the deer which is over the bleak mountains 
roaming, 

At grey of the dawn will abide at the stream; 

There the wail of the cougar is heard in the gloam- 
ing, 

And eagles above it will circle and scream. 

In the steps of his quarry the hunter there follows, 
The camper's retreat is a rift in the wood; 
While the fisherman seeks for the eddies and hol- 
lows, 
The tourist stands silent and looks upon Hood. 



108 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Where the sere wrinkled hills and the dead trees 

are pages, 
On which is recounted the ravage of time, 
There is written by nature a tale of the ages, 
And Zigzag there chants it in rhythmical rhyme. 

But a mimical roar of the sea is its numbers, 
Where it winds and rewinds in demoniac flight; 
And the grandeur of Hood in forge tfuln ess slumbers, 
When tourists look down on its billowy light. 



I WOULD UNTO MY ROSE BE AS THE DEW. 

I would unto my rose be as the dew, 

And rest upon her bosom through the night, 

And every morn present to her anew 

A diamond necklace as her queenly right. 

What would I care, though one, more passionate. 
Snatched from her breast my jewels of an hour? 
I know full well she would that one forget, 
And wait my nightly coming to her bower. 

For, as the morning rolled the curtains by, 
I would with jewels deck my love, and she 
More beautiful, must from me steal a sigh, 
And in return be loath to part from me. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 109 

WHAT IS A WIFE? 

A wife, what is a wife ? Perhaps, 

Love's nuptual food which time will sweeten, 

Perhaps, the few discarded scraps 

The wedding feast has left uneaten; 

Though others think not, I discover 

Wife is a loved one, where her lover 

Finds bliss in every cup she pours, 

He drinks and she each cup restores. 

She fills my cup with sweetest nectar, 

Could Juno more on Jove bestow? 

In her I find heaven's own reflector, 

At least, all heaven that I would know; 

A little Turkish, just enough 

To smooth what makes the Christian's rough; 

My angel makes the day delightful, 

My houri pours my cup at night full. 

A wife, what is a wife? Perhaps, 

To some, a one in high degree, 

Who must enrobe in furs and wraps, 

Or, like a butterfly shall be; 

I think she sold what should be given, 

Yet, sold no Turk nor Christian heaven. 

No wonder that the buyer sees 

No wife in one where wife should please. 

My wife would robe in comely dress, 
Yet, she disrobes her soul to me; 
I see it pure in nakedness, 



110 MISCELLANEOUS. 

And swear my soul as pure shall be. 
Fill up the glass, O loved one, fill !. 
The wedding feast is with us still; 
Let others live for else, perhaps, 
For costly robes, or nuptual scraps. 

What is a wife? In truth, a woman 
Who did her heart's decree obey; 
A one as fair, and just as human 
As God has molded from the clay. 
Not such shall wait the buyer's price, 
A priuce's name, a count's device, 
She yields to love, and in her bower 
She loves where love can not deflower. 

Fill up the glass, O loved one, fill ! 
The wedding feast is fair a yore; 
I am to day your lover still, 
And you, my love, my drink shall pour; 
Though others quaff diluted wine, 
Let mine be yours, and yours be mine, 
Where life distills the nectar flow 
That only wedded lovers know. 



The poet is to men a useless weed, 
Until he has his growth and goes to seed; 
Then from that seed will either bloom a flower, 
Or rise a thorn to prick men for an hour. 



MISCELLANEOUS. Ill 

SONG OF THE OREGON GRAPE. 

I wish to state that this sublime poem is written in honor of 
the most beautiful flower in the universe. If you steep and 
drink it, it will bite you; if you touch it you will be punctured; 
and if you smell it you are liable to join the Women's Club, 
which named it the state flower of Oregon. V. B. 

I'm a flower of June, I am out of tune, 
When I sing of the sun, the stars and moon, 
But as Oregon's flower I am much a power, 
For I warble a rhythmic rune. 

I'm the Oregon grape, I am in a scrape, 

help me if you can, 

For the Women's Club would leave its tub, 

The teapot and the pan; 
I'm a bitter root and a thorn to-boot, 
If you drink of me I will make you scoot — 

1 am medicine for a man. 

The buttercup, the mountain pea, 
And forget-me-not shall forgotten be, 
And the violet with tears is wet, 
As it droops upon the lea. 

Let others tell of their hue and mell, 
The pansy, peach, the pink and bell, 
The margarite, the daisy sweet. 
And iris in the dell. 

I'm the Oregon grape, I am out of shape. 
O help me if you can, 



112 MISCELLANEOUS. 

For here is the rub, the Women's Club 

Would paint me on a fan; 
I'm a bitter root and a crooked shoot, 
As the flower of state I am not cute — 

I am medicine for a man. 

where is the rose, the laurel fair, 
The golden rod and the maiden's hair, 
The clover flowers, the orchid's showers, 

And queen-of-the-meadow rare ? 

The fleur-de-lis, and the larkspur's gleam, 
And the clematis are a maiden's dream; 
And the fringed milkwort is such a flirt, 
I am not what I seem. 

I'm the Oregon grape, and I would escape, 

help me if you can, 

For the Women's Club the men would snub, 

And bid me lead the van; 
I'm a bitter root with a glossy suit, 

1 grow a thorn and I bear a fruit — 

1 am medicine for a man. 

The touch-me-not more bright would be, 
Or the clusters of the dogwood tree, 
While the tiger cap should wear, mayhap, 
The crown instead of me. 

I'm the Oregon grape, I am in a scrape, 

O help me if you can, 
For the Women's Club would leave its tub, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 113 

The teapot and the pan; 
I'm a bitter root and a thorn to-boot, 
If you drink of me I will make you scoot — 

I am medicine for a man. 



INCONSTANCY. 

Place a rose upon my grave, 

Said a maid forlorn; 
I was true and would be brave, 

Yet, I fail from scorn. 
Why O maid be thus confessed ? 
Roses should adorn your breast. 

Love is your companion soon, 

Let the old be gone; 
Like the fair inconstant moon, 

Times will change anon; 
Love awaits upon the way, 
Wear the rosebuds sweet to-day. 



Life is else than people make it, 
Life is what our parents made us; 
Life a bottle filled is — shake it, 
Drink the glass full, and persuade us 
That its contents is not mother 
Always more than any other; 
Life a bottle filled is — break it — 
Few are able — pour and take it. 



114 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE CHURCH OF THE WILDS. 

In the wilds is a church where the cliffsides are walls, 
And the trees are the columns which cloister the halls; 
There the aisles are the paths where its denizens roam, 
And the stars in the sky are the lights in the dome. 

The mountains are towers, where the minarets glow 
With the gold of the morn, and the sheen of the snow; 
There the chime is the solitude's call to the soul, 
And the organ's refrain is the waterfall's roll. 

In the sigh of the trees and the purl of the brooks 
Are the chants of the choirs from the fairest of books, 
And the litanies anthem from grotto and bower, 
While the sermons from sunshine make happy the hour. 

There the anthems of song birds will bear me away 
Where the gems of the shrine are the flowers of May, 
And their vespers will echo from hillside and wold, 
When the autumn is wreathing the altar with gold. 

In the church of the wilds is the altar of prayer, 

And the soul in the solitude knows it is there, 

For we feel as if lost in a presence Divine, 

Then we stand where we are and we bow at the shrine. 



Be firm for truth, fight Armageddon well, 
Be not a craven, though in heaven or hell; 
Each are conditions, each to Earth extend — 
If hell is yours be stoic to the end. 



MISCELLANEOUS. U 5 

THE GREAT HIGH PRIEST. 

In the bright days of pharisean power, 
The priestly throng proclaimed the sacred prayer, 
Where robed in radiance of a golden hour 
Rose o'er her hills Jerusalem the fair. 

Crowned with the halo of exalted grace, 
For glory covered him, the high priest cared 
Not for the splendor of a ruler's place, 
Not for the grandeur which a Caesar shared. 

Yet, he is gone— gone like the kings of old, 

The pomp, display are buried in the past, 

While one, whose robes knew not the worth of gold, 

Taught golden themes which will forever last. 

He came and toiled, and love was his command, 
For love for man upon the cross he died; 
And darkness fell upon that olden land, 
When mocked the high priest at the crucified. 

No grand display, no gilded pomp can be 
Else than the fleeting sunshine of an hour, 
Beneath the light of which the pharisee 
May bid the lowly pluck no sunlit flower. 

But love will live, although no timbrels sound, 
Like the great teacher, faithful and serene, 
Until it lights a world, and man has found 
His great high priest, the lowly Nazarene. 



IX 6 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE CITY OF REFUGE. 

Is there a place of refuge found, 
Where every harm is turned aside ? 
Where sweetest notes of peace will sound, 
Though rolls without a sullen tide? 

On Jordon's banks were cities raised, 
Where fled the outcast from his doom; 
Yet, he beyond the portal gazed 
Like one who looks within a tomb. 

And through the years of ages gone 
The guilty sought a refuge near, 
A fond retreat, which fled anon, 
And left alone a desert sere. 

What law of man can bid the soul 
Regain its peace and find repose? 
Who flees unto an earthly goal, 
Is still pursued by vengeful foes. 

There is a place of refuge found, 
Though not by mortal fingers wrought; 
There sweetest notes of peace will sound, 
And every trouble is forgot. 

That city is in every land, 
There every soul can find retreat; 
Christ holds the walls with sole command 
Love turns the gate for weary feet. 

Who enters casts no longing gaze 



MISCELLANEOUS. II 7 

Beyond the gate, but will remain 
Where watchful Mercy guardian stays, 
Till Love will wash awav each stain. 



THE TRANSFIGURATION. 

Like the beams of the sun on a mantle of snow, 
Was the splendor illuming the face of the Lord, 
When apostles on Hermon collected below, 
In the joy of that moment beheld their reward. 

Like a break in the vapors the mortal was riven, 
And the human, transfigured, to men was a sign; 
Like the sun in the rift shone the glory of heaven, 
For they looked on the Lord and beheld him Divine. 

He was changed in an instant to them on the height, 
And the halos above him with radiance shone; 
Then the prophets appeared in their mantles of 

light, 
And they beamed with a glory supernal alone. 

Can the orient sunrise, or earth-light compare 
With the light which illumined the face of the Lord? 
Transfigured, the mortal that glory may share, 
And a bright immortality be a reward. 

Who will follow the Master Mount Hermon ascends, 
From the dawn and the morning to splendor above; 
Through the clouds which encompass the pathway 
he wends, 



1 1 8 MISCBIA ANEOUS . 

And upon the fair crest is transfigured with love. 

Like the burst of the sun upon night in a cave, 
Was the hour when the Lord was transfigured for 

men; 
For his halos shone over the gate of the grave, 
And a path through the portal was offered them then. 



HILLS OF OREGON. 

O stately hills of Oregon !. 

crags and cliffs and mossy heights ! 
Your haughty crests I stood upon, 
And found my fullness of delights; 

1 saw the mountain waters leap 
From niche and ledge and rocky steep, 
I viewed the foaming torrents flow 
Deep in the misty gorge below. 

The streams, unparted by an isle, 

Seemed mirrors dulled with shadowy green, 

Till dashing by a bleak defile, 

I saw them change to silvery sheen; 

And as I listened to the roar, 

I longed to be upon their shore, 

And as I looked beyond, I thought 

That distance had enchantment wrought. 

O treasured hills of Oregon ! 

O wooded heights and flowering slopes ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1 19 

Unto your haunts I oft have gone, 

And sought the shade of tree and copse; 

The wildwood flowers which grew between 

The varied ferns of fairest green, 

And forests breathing fragrance sweet, 

Made happiness my lone retreat. 

I climbed the ledges, down to look 
On glens arrayed in every hue, 
To some sequestered dell or nook 
I passed, the towering cliffs to view; 
Beside some murmuring crystal stream 
I sought to catch its oft said theme, 
And wondered while it purled away, 
Why it would sing and sing all day. 

O lovely hills of Oregon ! 

Pathed not by man, untamed by art, 

As in the past, the years anon 

Will stay the eye and hold the heart; 

Thy rugged beauty then will be 

To others what it is to me; 

Thy lasting grandeur then will say, 

Behold, O men, and pass away ! 



What is in life but this — 

On the soul's bright wings away to fly, 

Like a joyous bird which can not die, 

And leave behind this earthly shore 

Forevermore — is else amiss ? 

A hope of life is this. 



120 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE CHINOOK WIND. 

In the spring I awaken from ocean's dominions, 
In a mist I arise o'er the wave beaten height; 
With the storm for my talons and cloud for my pin- 
ions, 
To the snows I will look for my far away flight. 

I will sweep on the passes, and shout to the fountains, 
They will drink of my wrath and in torrents will flow; 
I will mock at the trees on the forest clad mountains, 
Which are waving their impotent arms in their woe. 

I will race on the river that rolls in the ocean, 
And winnow the rain with the lash of a flail; 
As the boatman beholds me in angry commotion, 
He will turn to the shore and condemn me a gale. 

But my goal is the hills where the snowdrifts are hid- 
ing, 
And my foe is the winter which cuts with a blast; 
As the bleak icy canyons my pinions are guiding, 
I will strike with my talons and winter has passed. 

Though the torrents shall flow, and the forests are 

sighing, 
And the mariner pales when I rise from the sea, 
With the bearers of gladness I ever am vieing; 
I will bring a green mantle for hillside and lea. 

Then the breath of my wings will repose on the bow- 
ers, 
And the blossoms will smile in the sunshine of spring; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 121 

As the valleys are feeling the warmth of my showers, 
I dissolve in the joy of the carols I bring. 



SUNRISE IN THE CASCADES. 

Robed with the mantle of an age of days, 
Snow peaks arising grimly bleak and bold, 
Frown on each subject hill, which bows and pays 
A silent homage to its monarch old. 

Grand, silent, cold, the grey profiles are seen 

Against the emerald ramparts of the dawn; 

The portal opens, orient morn, serene, 

Comes forth to greet them and their frowns are gone 

Morn looks to Hood, and he, the first caressed, 
Puts off his mantle of a somber grey, 
A bright tiara crowns his hoary crest, 
And once again the hills obeisance pay. 

The brightening beams from morn's refulgent wings 
Pierce the cool air, and flow in billowy light 
O'er forest, hill and plain, and nature rings 
A glad awakening from the grave of night. 

Night scarce has fled, the misty oceans float 
Upon the plains and river canyons deep, 
Where I within a boat of thought may float, 
And look upon the hamlets still asleep. 



122 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Some say that death is sleep, the grave is night, 
And life a glance upon a fleeting haze; 
Across the vapors comes the morning light, 
The hamlet wakens unto other days. 

The vapors fade, the purple billows fall, 

The forests, crags and sere woods pink the skies; 

Day rises forth above his eastern wall, 

And once again his van to battle flies. 

Hood feels the shafts against his hoary breast, 
Day sends a challenge to the Titan old; 
Mount Hood to meet him stands in glory dressed, 
Paling the heavens with his burnished gold. 

The woods awake, the hamlet sleeps no more, 

The triumph rings, the victory is won; 

The strife is over as in days of yore, 

Mount Hood stands white beneath the glowing sun. 



A POEM. 

My love is fair to-night, 
As she by the mirror stands, 
Her hair of golden light 
She curls with shapely hands; 
Yet, I know her love for me 
Is her image in the glass, 
Before an hour shall be, 
It is gone from me, alas ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. I23 

I look on silk and lace, 

But else my glance must heed, 

For inscribed with rhythmic grace 

A poem there I read; 

The lines glow from her form, 

Her eyes beam thoughts sublime, 

Each movement of her arm 

Is sweetest measured rhyme. 

I scan each couplet fair, 
I read her cherished themes, 
Her beauty rich and rare 
Is pictured in her dreams; 
Though I see within the glass 
Her imagery divine, 
Alas — alas — alas I 
That poem is not mine. 



STAR OF MY SOUL. 



Night is a world, day is a world, 

Time is a boundless sea, 
And my soul is a boat where the twin-worlds float, 

Its sails are the winds which be; 
It ever beats by the night and day, 
Like a ship which rolls on a rock bound bay, 
Though it longs to glide to the far away, 

Where a twin-soul waits for me. 

That soul is a star where the fairest are, 
And her light is a world to me; 



124 MISCELLANEOUS. 

There is never a shoal, and never a bar, 

And never a storn^ sea; 
In a pearl cliff harbor I would rest, 
Where the waves are the heavings of her breast — 
Like mated birds in a well built nest, 

We would rock on the winds which be. 

Her mien is the swell which would toss my boat, 

Her smile is the sheltering lee; 
And what care I though the twin-worlds float 

On time, the boundless sea ? 
I would bask in her love where the pearl cliffs are, 
Where the light of her eyes to my soul is a star, 
Where is uever a shoal, and never a bar, 

And never a stormy sea. 



O COME, SWEET LOVE. 

The night is fair, the starlight shines, 
The arborway in stillness poses, 
The wind is drifting through the vines, 
And bears the odors of the roses; 
O come, sweet love, life is the wooing 
Of what full often proves undoing; 
Though thou, undone, can not undo it, 
M}' love, my love will never rue it. 

Youth roams the paths where youth's delights 
Like twinkling stars on bowers center; 
The shadows fall, the hour invites 
The lovers hand in hand to enter; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1 25 

O come, sweet love, life is the wooing 
Of what full often proves undoing, 
And thou, undone, can not undo it; 
His word was false and she must rue it. 

The night is fair, as fair as yore, 
And lovers are the same as ever; 
They stray where many strayed before, 
The path will be untrodden never; 
O come, sweet love, life is the wooing, 
Of what full often proves undoing; 
The swain not false is still untried, 
Love not undone must be a bride. 



MEMALOOSE ISLAND. 

Where swift Columbia seaward rolls, 
Between its ramparts sere and grand, 
Began the fabled bridge of souls 
That spirits crossed to Tamath land ; 
Bleak Memaloose it rested on, 
That rock is still its earthly pier, 
Clothed with a myth of Oregon 
Which bids no passer linger near. 

There cold winds blow and whistle through 
The lampless skulls upon the rock; 
There sightless eyes look up at you, 
The dry bones seem to move and mock. 
The night falls down, the beating waves 



126 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Are chanting ghostly music then, 
The sand is rattling o'er the graves, 
And souls recross the bridge again. 

Alone, alone the stranger stands, 
He sees the slender bridge of thread, 
He feels the touch of spirit hands, 
He sees the spirits of the dead; 
The skulls are lit, the bones arise, 
The waves and winds in stillness seem, 
He looks no more on lampless eyes, 
He hears a chant which ends a scream, 

There herons boom their startled flight, 
The prairie wolf howls near the rock, 
And gaunt coyotes wake the night 
With cries which might death's gate unlock. 
Though sunlight shines upon the crest, 
Though starlight gleams upon the sand, 
No boatman pauses there to rest, 
No steamer dents the barren strand. 

Grim Memaloose its own controls, 
Its own at every mound is seen; 
Though elsewhere live the skulless souls, 
Their soulless skulls rot there serene; 
Serene, although the startled ear, 
And haunting thoughts find ghosts anon, 
Where Memaloose stands lone and drear, 
Clothed with a myth of Oregon. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 127 

NKCARNBY MOUNTAIN. 

The sea waves roll and rumble, 

And the tempests beat and blow, 
Where Necarney height abides the flight 

Of the years which come and go; 

And its rocks will groan and tumble 

In the tides which ebb and flow 
O'er the sailors' bones, and the moss clad stones, 

And the wave hid wrecks below. 

Its caverns cold have waited 

The stroke of the spoiler's wand, 
Through the arrow's guide on the bleak cliflside, 

And the graven marks beyond; 

But the hidden past is fated, 

And the ghosts guard treasures fond 
With a piercing wail and a fiery flail, 

And skeletons undonn'd. 

Up the path the stranger wanders, 

As he climbs the ramparts high, 
Above he sees the storm warped trees 

Silhouetted against the sky; 

Then he turns to the sea and ponders 

On time and its ages by, 
Till awoke from dream by an osprey's scream, 

Or a startled seagull's cry. 

The rocks and the waves contending, 
Resound with a battle's roar, 
While the purple shroud of an ocean cloud 
Seems a distant foreign shore; 



128 MISCELLANEOUS. 

And the ocean wide extending, 
Is a paved marmoreal floor, 
Where a soul in flight from that dizzy height, 
Could wander forevermore. 

As he looks on the angry ocean, 

He beholds in its mighty power 
The thrust and foil and the ceaseless toil 

Which have formed the tree and flower; 

Which have built with a mad commotion 

From the past to the present hour, 
The beast and man as the swift years ran, 

Yet, has built but to devour. 

Then the sun and the sea are meeting, 

And the mists climb up the height, 
While the dying day with a shielded ray 

Paves the deep with a golden light; 

But the splendor is retreating, 

Till the evening star is bright; 
Then the stranger hastes to the wave lashed wastes, 

And Necarney is left to night. 



What is in life but this ? 
To be with one we love, so dear, 
That all is darkness if not near 
That one — and in a moment sweet 
Know life complete — is else amiss? 
A dream of life is this. 



NISCELI.ANEOUS. 129 

WHEN JEALOUSY ENROBES IN GREEN. 

When jealousy enrobes in green, 
And seeks its haunt of revel, 
Love flees unto another scene, 
For Cupid is a devil; 
O one so blind, why hope to see 
With eyes of frenzied jealousy. 

O Cupid fair, why thus disguise, 

And change into a gunner ? 

The shaft you cast from spatkling eyes 

Has won him, or has won her; 

Pray cast another dart and see 

How soon flees frenzied jealousy. 

Full many hearts unsmitten are, 
O fond one, can you miss them ? 
Full many lips are near and far 
Awaiting lips to kiss them; 
Though archer thou, no devil be, 
Another love slays jealousy. 



WHAT IS BEAUTY? 

What is beauty ? Beauty true 
Is the dwelling of my love; 
Though her eyes are dark in hue, 
Though the blue of skies above, 
I will ever beauty see 
In the eyes which iest on me. 



I30 MISCELLANEOUS. 

What is beanty ? Beauty fair 
Is my heart's abiding place; 
Jet or golden be her hair, 
Though enrobed in serge or lace, 
Beautiful that one will be, 
If she sweetly smiles on me. 

What is beauty ? Beauty dear 
Is my soul's serene delight; 
Cheeks will flush if I am near, 
If away, her cheeks are white; 
Beautiful that one will be 
Who awaits a kiss from me. 

Beauty is no fading gilt, 

Not a tinsel, not a flower, 

In my home to dim or wilt, 

But what charms me every hour; 

Matchless beauty I will see 

In the one who loves but me. 



THE RED CROSS. 

All praise to those who bravely bear 

The red cross unto war, 
Who freely stay where the cannons slay, 

And the sabres maim and mar; 
All honor to the women fair 

Who bind the bleeding wound, 
Who close the eyes when a soldier dies, 

And weep o'er the stranger's mound. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 131 

The glory of the battlefield 

Is dimmed by the cross of red, 
For the hero stands with weaponless hands 

Where the bugle call has led; 
And the burnished sword the warriors wield 

Is dulled b3 r the gentler glow, 
Where the red and white abide the fight, 

And care for the friend and foe. 

A tribute unto him who strives 

To soften the ill of war, 
Though the roll of fame and the sounding name 

Are alone where the warriors are; 
And homage to the offered lives 

Who lessen the price of peace, 
Till the battle roar sounds nevermore, 

At the time when wars shall cease, 

The die is cast for the coming years, 

And its mark is on each land, 
For the battle smoke is not a cloak 

For the merciless command; 
The cross of red on the field appears, 

And soon in the van it flies, 
Then is never a fear and never a tear, 

And never a foeman dies. 

Let history tell of the tyrant's hand, 

Let the statues laud the kings, 
The human race in another place 

Will mold its offerings 
To the woman true, to the faithful band 

Proclaiming a nobler war; 



132 MISCELLANEOUS. 

From a people's heart they will never part, 
'Tis a shrine where their statues are. 

All glory to the sacred cross 

On the field of stainless white, 
And honor to the nations who 

Sustain its worth}^ flight; 
Though the armies count their gain or loss 

By the number of the dead, 
The number saved where it boldly waved , 

Is the mark of the cross of red. 



NECANICUM. 

Drinking of the mountain rills, 
Purls the clear Necanicum, 
From the alder covered hills 
Trip* its waters frolicsome; 
Like a sister of the breeze 
Wandering in mirth and ease, 
Where it leads o'er the meads, 
Pour its sylvan melodies. 

Feasting on the crystal streams, 
Softly rolls Necanicum; 
Burdened with its joyous themes, 
Scarcely once its voice is dumb, 
Till it meets the briny sea, 
Till it glides where you will be, 
To a deep, there to. sleep, 
Where the depth is mistery. 



MISCELLANEOUS. I33 

Where the ocean's distant roar 
Greets the fair Necanicum, 
Down in rapids it will pour 
With a merry ceaseless hum; 
There its rippling voice will say, 
Happy be with with me to-day; 
If you sigh, its reply 
Brightens as it rolls away. 

If my voice was as thine own, 
Beautiful Necanicum, 
It would blend the ocean's moan 
With thy carols frolicsome; 
Then were anthems of the breeze 
Mingling strains of birds and bees, 
And my song would belong 
To the sum of harmonies. 

If my life was as thine own, 
Rollicking Necanicum, 
What a gladness would be known 
In a heart so often numb ? 
Joyous every livelong hour, 
I would dwell within a bower, 
And with glee sing like thee, 
Till the briny waves devour. 

Songs will come and songs will go, 
Wandering Necanicum, 
Calms will be, and winds will blow, 
Comes a thrill, it leaves us dumb; 
In thy pools I hear no voice, 



134 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Yet, thy ripples all rejoice; 
Every side will banks abide, 
Channels guide us and not choice. 

Pleasant paths seem ever thine, 
Bower hid Necanicum, 
If as garlanded were mine, 
Could I think them cumbersome ? 
Boulders bid my footsteps stay, 
Yet, the rocks upon thy way 
Gladden thee, thy song will be 
Sweetest where obstructions lay. 

Life is fairest in its youth, 

Fountain fed Necanicum, 

Age is scarcely ever sooth, 

Age is night, and night is glum; 

Yet, thy tide lulled anthem seems 

Sweet as thine own spring fed dreams; 

Each one hath as his path 

Gave to him his garnered themes. 

As thou art if I could be, 
Sunlight kissed Necanicum, 
Each impediment to me 
Would be adding to my sum; 
From my youth's first morning light, 
I would seek for ripples bright, 
And with throngs of garnered songs 
Pass into the sea of night. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 135 

NEHALEM. 

When but a boy, a log astride, 

I paddled on Nehalem's tide, 

And gaily on the breakers tossed, 

Its inner whirls I quickly crossed, 

Till overturned, I swam ashore, 

And felt a joy in crossing o'er. 

Its fire swept steeps I roamed upon, 

And to its forest depths have gone, 

And fished, and fished, and as I fished, 

For one fond bite all day have wished — 

An empiness within to stay; 

But not a bite I had that day. 

I tracked its vine clad slopes and hills, 
And trailed the streams and mountain rills, 
Have camped beneath a hemlock near, 
And fed my fire all night from fear. 
When but a boy — those days are gone. 
Days nevermore to be anon, 
For then the Indian prophet sang, 
And there the hunter's triumph rang; 
The camp fire smoke rose on the breeze, 
And morn was joy and evening ease. 

Though they have gone, Nehalem flows 

The same as when the camp smoke rose, 

The same as when my log did glide, 

And overturn me in the tide. 

I look in thought upon its shore, 

I look but long not any more, 



I36 MISCELLANEOUS. 

For as it drifts towards the sea, 
I drift where other longings be; 
Yet, as its waters turn to brine, 
I smile upon its fate and mine. 



WE DRIFT ON A MOMENT SWEET. 

The hour is sweet to me, 

And the day is dear to you, 

For I am alone with thee, 

And our hearts beat fast and true; 

Our hopes will be the guide 

Of our dainty speeding boat, 

And forever side by side 

On the waves of bliss we float. 

There is a harbor far, 
And there is a haven near, 
In one no sorrows are, 
And the other without a tear; 
Yet, why should we cease to glide 
On the sea of our fond dream. 
Where youth is a joyous tide, 
And life is a happiest theme. 

My eyes are the mirrored light 
Of my spirit at thy feet, 
Thy eyes are a magnet bright, 
As we drift on a moment sweet; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 137 

Though the reefs and rocks arise, 
Our hopes will guide our boat, 
Though our shallop quickly flies 
Where shallop can never float. 

There is a harbor near, 
But without thee it is far, 
Too soon will the port appear 
If alone in our boat we are: 
Yet, why should we cease to glide, 
When the waves of joy will beat 
On our fragile shallop's side, 
As we drift on a moment sweet. 



SONG OF THE TAKU. 

I'm the wind which blows from the cold bleak snows 

Of the north — on my way 

I am howling every day, 
When I waken for a moment from repose. 

I'm the terrible Taku, 

I am sweeping after you, 
And my jowling is my laughter in my glee, 

For I bury with my snows 

Every living thing which grows, 
Then I rage with exultation on the sea. 

Where the glaciers moan and creep is my cavern, 
and I leap 



138 MISCELLANEOUS. 

From the north, like a fiend 
Which is from its mother weaned, 
If I cast aside the mantle of my sleep; 

I will chill you unto death, 

I will slay you with my breath, 
And your pallor is a portion of my glee; 

I will dig for you a grave 

In some lonely nook or cave, 
And a robing of my snows for you will be. 

I'm the wind which screams through the mountain's 
icy seams 
Of the north — I will roll 
Down the canyons, and your soul 

Will be shattered if I rouse up from my dreams. 

I will scare the stars away, 

Like the night will make the day; 
I will blind you with the frenzy of my glee. 

Like a disembodied ghost, 

I will rage along the coast, 
And the ships I meet will sink within the sea. 

Where the hoary mountains rise in the greenish 
winter skies 

Of the north, I am found, 

And upon you I will bound, 
Like a billow ere you waken from surprise. 

I'm the terrible Taku, 
I am sweeping after you, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 139 

And your struggles are the fullness of my glee ; 

I will crush you with a blast, 

And your bodies I will cast 
On the rocks which are arising from the sea. 



THE LAND OF THE GHOSTS. 

In a boat without sail, 

In the calm and the gale, 

I am riding to-day, 

I am drifting away, 
And death, like a fiend abides at the helm, 
And grins at the billows which roll to o'erwhelm. 

No shiiek of the storm 

My soul can alarm, 

Though I drift to the coasts 

Which are haunted by ghosts, 
For I smile on the pilot that looks upon me, 
And guides my frail boat where its haven shall be. 

That haven is death, 

And the land without breath 

Is the port where I sail 

In the calm and the gale; 
Though the wails of the fiends resound on the coasts, 
Serene I will pass to the land of the ghosts. 

O the land of the ghosts ! 
In that haven are hosts, 



I40 MISCELLANEOUS. 

If the mortals who tossed 

On this deep there have crossed; 

Yet, why should I fear in that haven to stay ? 

My lot is to dwell with the mortals a day. 

Who awaits me, at most 

Is a welcoming ghost; 

If he howls I will howl, 

If he jowls I will jowl, 
If he sings I will answer in rhythmical tone, 
And if no one will greet me I'll wander alone. 

To the laud of the ghosts, 
Where the evil one roasts, 
And the blessed with lyres 
Form heavenly choirs, 
My shallop is gliding a mist covered sea, 
And I smile on the pilot that grins upon me. 



HOPE AND LOVE. 

Hope is like a starry gleam, 
Love is like a changeful dream, 
Hope, neglected, will be true, 
Love must feed on honey dew. 

Though around us clouds we see, 
Joyous hope above will be, 
While fair love beholds the cloud, 
Looks within, and sees a shroud. 



NISCEI^ANEOUS. 141 

Give to love her honey sweet, 
Let her dream, and let her eat, 
Call her dear and term her fair, 
You have love without compare. 

Give to hope a clouded night, 
Let one rift let in her light, 
Through that rift she comes to you, 
Nevermore to say adieu. 

Fed on honey love will stay, 
Hungry love will flee away; 
Hope, though weary, true will be, 
Peerless in her constancy. 



THE ORIENT GATES ARE NOW AJAR. 

The orient gates are now ajar, 
Night will no more a vigil keep, 
For Dawn crept up behind a star, 
And found the sable queen asleep; 
She slipped the bolts and called to me, 
And Night, surprised, away did flee. 

I came enrobed in golden light, 
And Dawn caressed my shining hair; 
She said, no more I follow Night, 
But Morn, the fairest of the fair; 
And then upon her robes of mist 
She looked, and wished them amethyst. 



142 MISCELLANEOUS. 

I kissed her cheek and called her maid, 
And robed her in the daintiest blue; 
She seemed so pure, so unafraid, 
I answered: Let me follow you; 
Go unto earth and be my guide, 
Where you would be I will abide. 

The orient portals are ajar, 
The splendor of the day is near, 
Though always near, it seemed afar, 
Night's sceptre was the haunting fear; 
The beauty of a world is thine, 
Arise, behold what once was mine. 



MULTNOMAH FALLS. 



Columbia's banks are sere and gray, 

Columbia's heights are bleak and grand, 

The palisades are there to day 

A wonder in a wonderland; 

There waterfalls, like threads of light, 

Seem motionless upon the steep, 

There streams will spray the craggy height, 

And torrents down the canyons leap. 

But fair Multnomah is as fair 
As all Columbia's treasured gems; 
It seems a spirit's shining hair, 
Arrayed with rainbow diadems; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 143 

And there, where flows the falls, 'tis said, 
An Indian maiden lived, and she, 
When famine on the people fed, 
A sacrifice for them would be. 

At morn she climbed the pathless rock, 
And plunged upon the rocks below, 
Gave life for life, at death to mock, 
That plenty all her tribe might know; 
The famine left that very day, 
And all the people, wondering, sought, 
The one who caused its greed to stay, 
The one who died and plenty brought. 

Multnomah was the fated one, 
Multnomah was the chieftain's child; 
The sorrowed father gazed upon 
The form he found within the wild. 
But soon the mountain's spirit spoke: 
Weep not for her, I'll weep alone; 
Her shining hair my hands will stroke, 
By this your daughter shall be known. 

Then poured a stream from o'er the height, 

Lest fair Multnomah be forgot, 

And in the water silvery white 

The spirit tied a parting knot; 

As token of her love he placed 

Bright mosses where she climbed the wall, 

And where she stood his rainbows graced, 

And flowers grew where she did fall. 

A requiem the waters sang, 



144 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Her name was whispered by the breeze, 
And when the forest upward sprang, 
The tale was told by trees to trees; 
Thus are the twim-falls that we see, 
Multnomah's name is cherished there; 
And thus the rainbows there will be 
A diadem to deck her hair. 



FOR YOU. 



Wake, O sleeping youth, awaken ! 
Dawn has passed, and morn appears, 
Night's intrenchments have been shaken; 
Day its bulwark rears. 

Thought unlocked the darkened portals, 
Light advances upon night; 
Men who follow are immortals — 
Waken for the fight ! 

Love, the emblem, flies before you, 
Its companion you will see, 
One bright banner waving o'er you — 
'Tis humanity. 

Are they red with carnage only ? 
Are they torn where bullets flew ? 
In their pureness they are lonely — 
Youth, they are for you. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 145 

THE THUNDER CLOUD. 

From the distant leaden skies, 
Like a spark upon the sea, 
You will see my signal rise 
On the dark, and I will be 
Where my flash illumes the night 
With the flames of lightning bright, 
For my hosts, as if ghosts, 
Are in flight o'er the lea. 

All my clouds have broken camp 
With a challenge unto day, 
And a tramp, tramp, tramp, 
Seems the roll which dies away; 
The lightnings are my steeds, 
And a demon boldly leads 
Battalions which move unto the fray. 

My reverberating roar 
From the crash and sullen peal, 
Seems the breakers on a shore, 
As they gnash, ere they reel 
From the tempest beaten fell; 
But my' cohorts dole a knell, 
As I forge to the charge 
On the dell there to wheel. 

With a tap, tap, tap, 
As if knocking would abash, 
Comes the raindrop's gentle rap 
For protection from a flash; 
In the patter of the rain 



I46 MISCELLANEOUS. 

I will grant a soothing strain, 
Silenced by the anger of my crash. 

Hide away, O little one ! 

And to bed with a tear, 

Till the thunder fiends have gone, 

She has fled, there to fear; 

For she sees the livid light 

In the window with affright, 

As I roar more and more 

In the night bleak and drear. 

How the driven drops will beat, 
They will rattle and rebound, 
Like a million moving feet 
On the shingles they will pound; 
As I flame my angry streams, 
In her terror are her dreams 
Haunted by the awfulness around. 

With another mighty roar 
I have passed overhead, 
Ere I rumble on before 
I will blast where I sped; 
I will smite the giant tree, 
I will bid the mortals flee, 
And will laugh as I quaff 
Of my glee at the dead. 

Through the skies my lightnings flash 

With an ominating sound; 

With a zigzag and a crash, 

They will smite the helpless ground; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 147 

I will flank the mountainside, 

While across the valley ride 

Tempest clothed battalions onward bound. 

Fearless warfare I will wage 
On my foes within the skies, 
Though the land sea may rage, 
I will pose in no disguise; 
I will crush the home and park, 
I will slaughter for a lark, 
Till the path of my wrath 
In the dark of midnight dies. 

Winged with storm my steeds of fire 

Are awheeliug and ablaze, 

If they rise to regions higher, 

All the stars are in amaze; 

If they stamp upon the earth, 

What a terror has new birth? 

Trembling from the madness of my ways. 

Though I brightly flash and wane, 
Though I roar upon the lea, 
My distant dying strain 
Soon is o'er, I will be 
But the gentle drops which fall 
With a soothing, even call, 
And my hosts as if ghosts, 
To their hall quickly flee. 

For my clouds will go to camp 
In the silent cave of night; 
With a tramp, tramp, tramp, 



148 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Soon is heard their distant flight; 
But a demon boldly leads 
His swiftly moving steeds, 
Victorious returning from the fight. 



THE CASCADES OF THE COLUMBIA. 

I'm a river deep with an even sweep, 

A swirl, a surge and sea; 
Down my rock bound bed I madly leap, 

And race where the great cliffs be. 
With a roll and roar I am dashing o'er 

The reefs my path would bar; 
Ever with them and the bleak gray shore 

I strive in ceaseless war. 

When the walls of rock my gates did lock, 

And bid me cease to flow, 
My voice arose in mirth and mock, 

For I chiselled a path below; 
Away I sped, and the arch o'erhead 

Trembled at my power, 
While the Indian prophet came and said 

His prayers to me that hour. 

The great bridge stood like a thing of wood 

Upbuilt by a Titan hand, 
Till the mountains envied me, that could 

Bind mountains with a band; 
They arose in war my gates to mar, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 149 

And I heard a taunting yell; 
They veiled the sun and hid the star, 

And the great bridge groaned and fell. 

As the columns crashed the lightnings flashed, 

And the mountains roared with glee; 
My soul was mad and I fiercely lashed 

The walls imprisoning me; 
The mountains gazed like a child amazed, 

As I rolled on a pathway new, 
And the Indian prophet came and praised, 

And termed me Manitou. 

I'm a river deep with an even sweep, 

A swirl, a surge and sea; 
And the rocks o'er which I madly leap 

Were the ramparts arching me; 
Each mountain height is a ghost in white 

Of the Titans of that day, 
But my soul still dwells in the old, old fight, 

And I rage and roll for aye, 



THE SONGS. 



An angel sings in heaven, 

And a spirit sings on earth, 

The song above is a song of love — 

Love for the man-mad earth, 

A song of love is the song above — 

Love for the self-mad earth. 



150 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The spirit sings of its own dear self, 

So dear, that it sings alone, 

And its music seems to come from dreams — 

Dreams where all is stone, 

Of its earth-mad dreams that spirit seems 

To sing, for it sings alone. 

But the angel sings in heaven 

The song of a deathless love, 

And the angel choir can never tire 

To chorus that song above, 

Till the earth-mad spirit hears the strain, 

And feels that it sang its song in vain. 

Then the spirit sings of heaven, 

And the angel sings of earth; 

A song of love like the song above, 

Is the song of the joyous earth; 

And the heaven glad angel hears the strain, 

And knows that it sang no song in vain. 

Then the spirit will sing of its own dear self 

No more, nor sing alone, 

For the earthly choir will never tire 

To chorus the angel's own; 

The chant will seem like another dream — 

A dveam of self unknown; 

Like another dream the chant will seem — 

Of heaven on earth alone. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 151 

THE PAEAN. 

To chords of triumph tune my spirit's lyre, 
And bid the grove's sweet harp companion me, 
For orient morning burns the mountain's spire, 
And all the world awakes to melody. 

Led by the winds in mazy dance the leaves 
Beat the swift rhythm of the crystal streams, 
And radiant spring a bower of gladness weaves, 
Where every path is garlanded with dreams. 

Sweet with the dew the sunkissed flowers glow, 
Bright with their hues they diadem the hills; 
Over the slopes the song birds' anthems flow, 
And on the meadow pour melodious rills. 

Hail thee, fair birds, in fullness of thy joy ! 
Life is an anthem unto those that sing; 
Hail thee, bright world ! This hour without alloy 
To thy Creator do our praises ring. 

Pour out thy notes, the world recks not of grief, 
If sorrows bound it what a world were ours? 
Let life to life be like a sunny leaf, 
And death the rifted mouldering in the bowers. 

Let life be beautiful, this life is what? 
Look on to-morrow and to-morrow see; 
Within the heart its images are wrought, 
Behold the gloom and darkness real will be. 

The grave is empty — empty is the bowl 



152 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The spirit touched, forsaken is the urn; 
Like a freed bird the pure unfettered soul 
Sings a new song and wills not to return. 

Hail thee, illumined slopes and happy meads ! 
From thy voluptuous breasts to nature bare, 
The fountain flower pours out its wealth and feeds 
The fragrant unseen rivers of the air. 

Awake ! O hour, awake the soul with song ! 
Man needs a lesson — let the graveyard pass; 
The crematory is a lesser wrong, 
The ashes scattered never moan — alas ! 

One friend alone can weld the broken chain 
Which binds us unto life, should many sigh? 
Why seek a chorus when one soothing strain 
Cheers the sad heart and dries the weeping eye. 

The song fed soul to happier songs hath flown, 
Or else, there is no turning of the gate, 
To bid the spirit enter where is known 
One word of love outweighs a book of hate. 

Look to the earth, O men, for present weal, 
Look to the world for glorious triumph thine; 
Life is a book and broken is its seal, 
The written pages tell thy fate and mine. 

Over the hedge the apple blossoms vie 

With ruddier peach and pearly cherry showers; 

The orchard seems a banquet for the eye 



MISCELLANEOUS. 153 

To feast upon intoxicating flowers. 

The sunbeams frolic with the humming bees, 
That sip from goblets they can never drain, 
While flow the wanton ripples of the breeze, 
And bear the fragrance o'er the emerald grain. 

Upon this undeveloped film I pour 
Fair nature's chemicals, and then behold 
Bright laughing Summer at the storehouse door, 
Holding the fruit of purple and of gold. 

Where is the paean ? Ah, the earth is fair, 
The world is rich in treasure without end; 
But only those who delve find jewels rare, 
To those who ask, alone the earth will lend. 

Turn from the fields and look upon the sea, 

Turn to the mart and hear the busy feet; 

The laden vessel nears the harbor's lee, 

And garnered wealth proclaims the toil complete. 

Look up to fame and see no flickering light, 
Look up on honor, each on summits glow; 
Who dwells beside them must surmount a height, 
Where none will cast a longing glance below. 

Unto that moment chants a joyous earth, 
The glow of honor is its noonday hour; 
Who never falters finds reward of worth, 
All have a portion, even the thorn and flower. 

Think not that portion is alone the grave, 



154 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Words live for years and deeds can scarcely die; 
The flower and thorn which on the meadow wave, 
Shall cast a seed to rise up by and by. 

Upon this negative of death I cast 

The light of honor and of worthy fame, 

And when the rays beneath the film have passed, 

I fix the print and find a deathless name. 

Where is the paean ? Though all triumphs sound, 
The grandest is not fame, nor wealth, nor power; 
But for the one a poison thorn has found, 
And in its stead has placed the sunniest flower. 

Let life be beautiful, behold the cloud, 
The sunbeams quickly pierce its folds of mist; 
Gloom to its cavern bears its somber shroud, 
And once again the skies are amethyst. 

O what a gladness in my soul were known, 
Could I but chant the joy upon the earth; 
O what a sadness like a shroud were thrown 
Upon me did I know where grief had birth. 

No grief is softened by a moan or frown, 
Though sympathy would grant a sigh for sigh; 
No night is dark when stars look brightly down, 
No day is fair when clouds usurp the sky. 

Yet, should we grieve when life a paean sounds, 
And nature's opiates afford relief? 
Within the world a soothing balm abounds, 
And of our sorrows time is still a thief. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 155 

The rose will weep serenest tears of dew, 
Yet, quickly blush beneath the beams of day; 
The mourning heir beholds a treasure new, 
Though from the grave he would not turn away. 

The tree met winds awake a melody, 
A deep accordance is the billow's roll; 
The desert waste a lasting joy may be, 
Where silent stars will sing unto the soul. 

Thus nature welcomes, soothes our every pain 
With harmonies, though melodies are still; 
Why pour the myrrh and then the contents drain ? 
With sweetest wine thy goblet she would fill. 

The noiseless lightnings in the clouds of red 
Speak full as plain as ocean's sullen roar; 
They tell of bright to-morrow while they shed 
A present halo on the beaten shore. 

The universe fulfills its own design, 
Life unto all proclaims its offering; 
O'er every night a myriad stars will shine, 
We weep but once and many times we sing. 

Cast dross to dross and gold into the fire, 
The crucible will test the spirit's worth; 
Fond memories may sound a broken lyre, 
But the glad harp proclaims another birth. 

Where is the paean ? Not the mournful chant 
Of earth to earth, which soothes us, yet, denies; 



I5 6 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Not the low requiem, or priestly cant, 
Not the sad nocturn when a body dies. 

For, near the home of weeping and of night, 
Unseen, a spirit sings another strain, 
Sweeter than songs which give the youth delight, 
Sweeter than carols on the mead and plain. 

Hail, risen soul ! in grander chords arise, 
Hail, loved ones met ! celestial voices ring; 
Then unto man the echo earthward flies — 
Life is an anthem unto those who sing. 



THE RENDING OF THE VEIL. 

Low fell the veil before the Holiest Place, 
And none dared enter where Jehovah came, 
Save, when the high priest prayed for saving grace 
And the bright altar breathed the scented flame. 

Robed with the hues of purple and of gold, 
He passed the threshold on atonement day, 
While from without arose the psalms of old, 
The blood was sprinkled, guilt was washed away. 

Yet, when the sixth hour saw the sunlight wane, 
And on the cross the Lamb for sinners died, 
The shrouding veil was ever rent in twain, 
And man no more God's presence was denied. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 157 



One was the type of sacrifice to be, 
The crucifixion was the perfect gift; 
The Saviour died for man, and man is free 
To seek for him where every veil will rift. 

Thy holiest place is where the Saviour dwells, 
Be it the home, the church, or where we stray; 
Be it the heart no psalter ever tells 
Else than is thine, thy guilt is washed away. 



CLIFF OF TILLAMOOK. 

In the great world of substance there is what 
Breathes in the soul the word eternity; 
The giant cliff by mighty forces wrought, 
Resists the sounding batteries of the sea, 
And warring storms and ages of decay, 
A structure seeming not to pass away. 

Yet, there is change and death. Substantial things 

Give way to substance. Where the rock projects 

Above the waves no more the billow springs 

Against a precipice, for time selects 

A barrier for a barrier, and the tide 

Meets but a rock where cliffs once did abide. 

Thou cliff of Tillamook, I count my years 

One grain of sand, and thine those on the shore; 

Yet, thine as one are to the power which rears 



1 58 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Crag upon crag, and breaks down to restore. 

Time and Change, what mysteries ye know ? 
What lingering deaths have laid the mountains low. 

O'er the log crossed path and foliage covered steep 

1 crossed at mom, and reached the barren crest, 
And from the dizzy height beheld the leap 

Of billows, and the waves, and then at rest 
The deep gray sea. The distant vista line 
Appeared to bound a universe of mine. 

My universe ? Where was the Awful One, 
Who spake with thunders, who the dial turned 
Back at the call of man ? I looked upon 
The sea again and there alone discerned 
A ceaseless, fixed, unvarying force which knew 
No vengeance, mercy, toiling ages through. 

My universe? One grain of sand my day, 

And all the countless millions at my feet? 

One grain for every man who passed my way, 

And stood where I did stand, and found complete 

His universe ? O creature of an hour, 

Why thus so proud ? how soon the waves devour. 

The many vines upon the ledges clinging, 
And groves of hemlocks on the rocky height, 
The driven clouds, across the ocean winging 
A silent way like birds in homeward flight, 
And crag and precipice beside the sea, 
Formed there a scene marine in harmony. 

The majesty was there. In passive might 



MISCELLANEOUS. 159 

Bleak Tillamook upreared its mighty form, 
While I, like some unnoticed parasite, 
Safe from my fears, beheld a nearing storm; 
It burst upon the path which bade me flee, 
And warring winds and clouds companioned me; 

Down from the steep a haunted waif I fled, 
To calm my spirit on the beaten shore; 
And many voices which my footsteps led 
Seemed echoes of the wars in Titan lore, 
Till lulled to slumber by the fiercer strain 
Of lightless thunders on the raging main . 

Through years of life and death the cliff is there, 
And forests are its wards. The clustering vine 
Protects its shoulders from the beating air, 
And shells around its feet a mantle wind, 
That it, proud Tillamook, a giant strong, 
Unvanquished wages war, how long — how long ? 



A well dressed woman seems a lustrous gem 
Unto the eye, she sparkles as she moves; 
With carriage womanly, a diadem 
Of rarest jewels that fair creature proves, 
If virtue gleams a diamond in its place, 
Encircled by the gems of worth and grace. 
Without that blessing she is only paste, 
No matter how symmetric is her waist. 



l6o MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE PARTING OF THE SEA. 

In vain, ah, in vain shall the sin burdened soul 
From its chains like a bondsman endeavor to flee, 
For with madness around it the prison waves roll, 
Till the hand of the Master has parted the sea. 

Like the Israel host on the plague stricken plain, 
For the land of its promise it gazes afar; 
But without the great leader its longing is vain, 
And the lash of a tyrant cuts deeply'the scar. 

Ah, a leader is ever awaiting the call, 
And the love of the Christ is the light to that land, 
At his word all the might of the barriers will fall, 
And the billows will part at the stroke of his hand. 

From the riven rock waters of solace will flow, 
Like a pillar of fire his presence will be, 
And the manna will fall like the drifting of snow, 
When the touch of the Master has parted the sea. 



What dearer thought can be expressed, 
Than home to us is heaven confessed; 
Though unconfessed, it is as sweet, 
If our own home is heaven complete. 
Why seek beyond this vale for what 
Is ever here, if we would see; 
By love a heaven on earth is wrought, 
Make it the home — a heaven to me. 



MISCELLANEOUS. l6l 

YAQUINA BAY. 

Yaquina bay is bright to-day, 

And the cutter waits by the pebbled shore, 

The mermaids sing on the rocks away, 

And the nereads roam where the billows roar; 

Away, my boys, away we pull ! 

The sea is calm and the tide is full. 

The jetty nears and the cutter veers 

On the eddies of the ebbing tide, 

The strong arms row and a boatman steers, 

Away we speed to the ocean wide; 

On the rolling waves the cutter swings, 

Heigh O, my boys ! the west wind sings. 

Let the landsmen yearn for the quick return 
To the peaceful bay and the pebbled strand, 
The beacon light in the tower will burn, 
Ere we veer around for the distant land; 
With the sail aloft the cutter flies, 
Heigh O, my boys ! the west wind cries. 

Yaquina beach where the seaweeds bleach, 
And the damsels tan to the prettiest brown. 
Where the drifted sands to the Seal rocks reach, 
And the waves roll up and the tide sweeps down 
There the youth will need no bower or tree; 
O come, my love, and abide with me. 

Yaquina rock9 with their pools and locks, 
Where the starfish dwell and the children play, 



l62 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Where the sunniest shell like a tempter mocks, 
Till the tide rolls in and it hides in spray, 
And the clustering trees on the sundried height, 
Form the lasting haunts of our fond delight. 

The ships await by the jettied gate, 
And the bathers dip in the sounding main, 
While the maidens look for a ship of fate 
To bring unto them the lovelorn swain; 
O the strangest fates on a summer day 
With the mermaids roam at Yaquina bay. 



What is a critic ? Let the bird 
Be symbol of his worth, at least; 
A carrion has its pinions spurred, 
A vulture drops down to a feast. 

What is a critic ? On the mead 
A gaunt hyena comes to stray; 
Though fragrant flowers are there indeed, 
It sniffs the air and runs away. 

Upon a time I saw a cat, 
And poked it with a pole, O my ! 
The pole and cat combined, and that 
Seemed unto me were critics nigh. 

What is a critic? Well, O guess; 
The light of stars, the forest's rune, 
And songs of morn can not confess 
They please a shallow-brain baboon. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 163 

KISMET. 

A fate is thine which art can not control, 
Nor earthly power, knowledge, sadness, joy; 
A fate is thine which guides the human soul, 
And makes the mortal body but a toy. 

Why look to stars and mark the hour of birth, 
Or read the hand lines graven plain or dull ? 
They count far less than parentage of worth, 
And often fate is stamped upon the skull. 

Yet, birth is fate, though some may term it chance, 

And destiny in life full oft appears; 

The will which drives a man to break a lance 

In him is born, and in us born are fears. 

Ah, where is will? 'Tis but a smouldering flame, 
Which years are fanning, till its light is known; 
Behold the slab inscribed with deeds of fame, 
Will wields the chisel, fate presents the stone. 

The warrior born may till a quiet dale, 

The village child may reach the height of power; 

The path of life is hidden by a veil, 

Will lifts the shroud, but fate shall name the hour. 

And death is fate, though knowledge would attain 
A height to guard us, can that knowledge save ? 
Each day on earth beholds the sunlight wane; 
Each life shall dim and set within the grave. 

Our mortal day is but a game of chess, 



1 64 MISCELLANEOUS. 

We seek a checkmate on a guarded king; 
It moves a square and we must all confess 
Its rook is fate, and we the offering. 

Yet, life is fate. Think not the sun has set 
To rise no more, think not the spirit dies; 
The morning breaks upon another shore, 
Night purifies that brighter beams arise. 

A wanton wind may cast a ripened seed, 

But fate decrees it procreate its own; 

Chance grants no mouldering leaf the germ to feed; 

Will can not act if it be cast on stone. 

Can chance ordain for better or for worse ? 
Are we but slaves of warring love and hate ? 
Where is the fortune, blessing, or the curse 
In law unvarying? why not term it fate? 

The floating bubble on the briny deep 
Appears a creature of the waves in play, 
Yet, changeless law commanded them to leap, 
And gave it form and took that form away. 

The planetoid holds but a silken thread 

To draw the chariot of the sun in space; 

But many skeins throughout the skies are spread, 

And all are taut to hold the orbs in place. 

Though all the strings are tuned to varying keys, 

A note of chance can never, never rise; 

The fiery ether strikes but harmonies, 

And perfect rhythm rules the boundless skies. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 165 

Upon the earth the balances are set, 
And equilibrium shall ever guide; 
Although thy lot is ill, do not forget 
Its weight in good rests on the other side. 

Seek not the earth, the earth will quickly roll 
Away the years thy portion here to find; 
Men would the treasures of a world control, 
Mankind acquires what men shall leave behind. 

Why hold a jewel with a right divine? 
That jewel was before thy lot to be; 
The only blessing from all wealth is thine, 
If it be slave, thou not a slave, but free. 

Free as the wind which blows from every dale, 
Fate works the vans propelling forth the air; 
If weal is thine a deeper breath inhale, 
If ill thy portion be, that portion bear. 

Fate gives to all an orient morning hour, 
To all a cloud which hides a sunny noon; 
Fate leads us in a path where blooms a flower, 
Yet, hides a thorn which we are meeting soon. 

No sunbird wills a faded rose to kiss, 

The wintery branches find their lot at length; 

The ruddy blossom blushes not amiss, 

Youth looks to youth and beauty unto strength. 

Yet, unto youth the morn to noonday glides, 
Up the blue arch his years pass with the sun; 



I 66 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Anear the zenith he awhile abides 

In manhood's grandeur, soon the course is run. 

Once verdant slopes have changed to autumn's gold, 
The yellow fields have felt the sickle's swing; 
Still, from the hillsides come the songs of old, 
Like lingering vespers, ere the nocturns ring. 

Within the mellow sound there is the charm 
Of beauty and of gladness, and a strain 
Recalling times when once a maiden's arm 
Was linked with his along the quiet lane. 

Like echoes of an oft remembered tune, 
Voiced by the lips in youth his lips had met, 
The sweet voice rising, falling, dying soon, 
Wafts the fond words which age can not forget. 

Upon the gloaming sounds a merry voice, 
But not for him, beside the arbored gate 
No loved one lingering bids his heart rejoice; 
Youth has its portion, age retains but fate. 

Though not for thee, think not a smile is lost, 
It pays the debt a willing debtor owes; 
Think not the lingering sunlit dew is frost 
Upon the bosom of another's rose. 

Seek not the ruby on the dimpled cheek, 
If thine is wrinkled, for thy sunniest smile 
Is but the nightfall of a winter bleak 
Unto the one thou wouldst thy night beguile. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1 67 

Yet, fate would grant to age a fair content, 
The vespers chime their happiest strains for thee; 
They chant of youthful hours in gladness spent, 
And sooth the heart with fondest revery. 

Still in the revery there is a cost, 
If twilight pictures one, long, long at rest; 
He hears a footstep, soon the sound is lost, 
He wakes to know that his are dreams at best. 

In beauty there is fate; 'tis like a leaf 
Of spotless white, except, one written line; 
Be what it may, it ends the same in brief, 
For beauty always knows it ends in — mine. 

In homeliness is fate of less degree, 
'Tis like a dress, untrimmed, of old design; 
Although the wearer out of it would be, 
Fate grants but this — she wishes it were thine. 

Fate dresses beauty in a robe of light, 
And guides her footsteps unto fortune fair; 
It soothes the homely with a cloak of right, 
Which is a form of beauty sometimes rare. 

From winsome eyes one thought will ever dart, 

By rubied lips one word is ever said, 

And that is fate; it shatters oft the heart, 

It pales the cheek and turns the aching head. 

Still, fate, the tyrant, would a blessing be, 
Why grieve for losses? think no more of them; 



l68 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Each day a myriad pearls are in the sea, 
Choose once again and find a lovelier gem. 

Though like a desert is thy solitude, 
And empty is the goblet life would fill, 
Think not upon that thirstful waste to brood; 
Smile on thy lot and know contentment still. 

The coral blossom hides within the sea, 
Yet, charms a grotto with its beams, I ween ; 
The waxen lily lights a frozen lea, 
Still it is lovely as a garden queen. 

Ah, beauty is not lost; where beauty dwells, 
Though village born, a scepter waits her hand; 
Her loveliness reposes on the dells, 
They envy her who palaces command. 

Who truly loves perceives the truth of fate, 
Think it not folly if they sigh, alas ! 
Our strongest passions seek the mystic gate, 
Which never turns to let a stranger pass. 

To others love is like a game of cards, 
Fate deals a heart and diamond for a pair; 
But holds a flush of clubs, and thus rewards 
The players with a game not very rare. 

Fate like a door is shut to every one, 
Save, night may lead and bid the blinded knock; 
We pass, it closes, and retreat is gone; 
Reality remains to smile or mock. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1 69 

Life is encompassed by encircling spheres, 
We pass through each, alone the passed are seen; 
None asks us stay, and when the outmost nears, 
The hour is fair if back we look serene. 

There is a a path which leads unto the end, 
That path divides ere manhood's hour arrives; 
We seem to choose, but fate waits round the bend, 
And lures us on, till master, then it drives. 

There is a fate our every deed controls, 
We heard the call, we followed and fulfilled; 
Behold the past, the pathway to its goals, 
And truly know we acted as it willed. 



WHAT I REGRET. 



What I regret I have forgot, 
Except, I call where memory dwells, 
For I at home am never caught 
When sad remembrance comes, and tells 
A burdened, dismal, haunting past, 
Like many women I have met; 
Still , now to memory's home I cast 
My thoughts and find but one regret. 

'Tis not I chanced a maid to kiss 
When youth's bright hour illured my heart, 
Nor loved and loved, nor even this, 
From me a maiden did nor part; 



170 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Nor that I cut no gordian knot 
Before a wedded fate I met; 
I look upon ni} 7 humble lot, 
And know these never my regret. 

'Tis not my years upon the sea, 

Nor toil 011 land in vain pursuit, 

With hope my guide, for what must be 

Forever deaf forever mute; 

Nor that I have an empty purse, 

Should one about a trifle fret? 

Nor that I wrote some books of verse — 

Ah, these are never my regret. 

'Tis not the past, the past is gone, 

Nor yet the future, it is bright 

As was my day's first break of dawn — 

The sun has not arisen quite. 

'Tis not the mist which shrouds its beams, 

Such trivial things we should forget; 

Though life to me is what it seems, 

I do not say life is regret. 

'Tis not I reck of chance, or fate, 
Or grim experience unsought, 
I oft have found an opened gate, 
And always entered to be caught. 
Not hope, nor fear, nor lack of each, 
'Tis long ago since last we met; 
Though I have tried a height to reach, 
I toiled and lost without regret. 

'Tis not that I have not a friend, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 171 

Nor that my lot is ceaseless toil, 
My happiest hours to friends extend, 
My brightest glows from midnight oil. 
Life is a nearly finished book, 
A stoic glance each page has met; 
On stained and stainless leaves I look, 
And with regret find no regret. 



FROM CLOUDS SWEKT WATERS FLOW. 

If I were a leaf on the wintery air, 
As I drifted away from my native bower, 
I would seek for a spot on the hillside bare, 
And nourish the seed of the tree or flower. 

If I were the breath of the autumn's blast, 
As I gathered the leaves from the sighing trees, 
I would carol a joy to the meads I passed, 
And gladden the groves with melodies. 

If I were a wave, at a stormy night, 

My alarm would arise where the dread reefs are; 

If I were a cloud, with a rapid flight 

I would flee from the path of the guiding star. 

If I were the morn's arising beams, 
Through orient gates I would lead the day; 
If I were the sun my radiant streams 
In a golden light would set away. 



172 MISCELLANEOUS. 

If I were a stream on iny rippling way, 

I would wait for a kiss from the thirsty lips, 

I would laugh with the youth, bid the weary stay, 

And thrill at the touch when a woman sips. 

If I were the fruit of a poison flower, 

I would lurk in a robe of the deepest shade; 

If I were a thorn, without a flower 

I would stand as a guard in the poison glade. 

But the earth is earth; though the sunset dies, 
And the clouds appear when the storm winds blow, 
Alone from the night can the morn arise, 
From the darkest cloud sweet waters flow. 



MY LAMP OF DREAMS. 

My lamp a foolish virgin's seems, 
For I have filled it up with dreams, 
And sought a wick where fairies are, 
And thought to light it with a star; 
A star which burned alone for me 
Within the heaven of poesy. 

O lighted wise, parade the way, 
The wedding feast is thine to-day; 
A day, a day, how soon the cup 
Of mortal life turns bottom up, 
How soon the lamp burns feebly low, 
One puff, and out the light will go. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 173 

My chosen lamp is filled with dreams, 

Though lightless unto you it seems, 

Alladin like, its slave I find, 

And leave the night and ill behind; 

I often touch it to a star, 

And roam in realms of light afar. 



m 1 7 



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